#media that has a permanent grip on me that i will never ever escape from

[meep--tm]

guy who listens to the same 69 episodes of dnd a million billion trillion times

[parkers-gal]

yay! okay so I was thinking, what I'd the reader and Tom had a fight, could be over anything, but the reader was pregnant and a few years after, they bump into each other and they get back together. Sorry if it doesn't make sense.

this has been sitting in my inbox for a fat couple of months… sorry 😭

wc: 1.7k ! <3

—

“No, because you’re selfish and you can’t handle the fact that my life doesn’t revolve around you and your needs.” Tom spits out the words angrily, viciously, voice harsh and crisp.

You’re both frustrated beyond belief, and the bubble that had been overblown had finally popped, splattering your relationship and all the joyful aspects of it. Right now, you felt as if all that was left was the toxicity of two unbearable people who happened to love each other. You knew, deep down, that you loved each other enough to get through this, but with every passing moment, with every exchanged word, you realized at least one of you wouldn’t survive the damage.

“No, Tom. You’re selfish. You’re conceited and you only care about being a goddamn movie star. What happened to the family man, huh? What happened to staying tied down with me and your brothers?”

“Nothing happened to him! I’m still that person. I am a family guy.”

“Not to me, you aren't.”

“Well you’re not family!” He seethes through his teeth, anger radiating off of his short-tempered demeanor. You don’t even know how to react, so you spend the time soaking in the situation and how you should respond instead of actually doing it.

“You’re a fucking jackass. I asked when I could spend time with you and now you don’t even consider me as part of the family.”

“No,” He’s clear and concise even through the anger. “You asked when I’m going to stop living my life.”

“I said no such thing.”

“You didn’t have to! We both know that’s what you meant.”

“You’re not even on the same page as me anymore,” You scoff, arms crossing. “Seems like all this time in Hollywood made you forget that you’re not always the main character.”

“Fuck that, Y/N! Fuck! That!”

“No, Tom. Fuck. You.” You over-express your emotions, and after two more minutes of unbearable silence and screaming, he’s leaving your apartment just as fast as he arrived. You’re in shock, fingers shaking while you clear your throat, which is frayed and sore from all the yelling.

You sit back, elbows on your knees while your hands smoothen out your forehead. Tear after tear escapes your sobbing body, and eventually, you fall asleep on the couch.

In the weeks to come, you’ve realized the blow-out of a breakup could’ve been handled so much differently, but Tom hasn’t seemed to cool down at all — he’s petty enough to unfollow you on all social media, and you figure it’s time to let the hatred be mutual. You don’t touch your imessages, however, letting the love in those texts linger for a little longer.

Before you know it, you’re throwing up into the toilet boil, coughing violently at the action and spitting the bitter taste as best you can. You clean up, and when you check your phone, a small notification from your period tracker app alerts you that this is the second period in a row that has gone by without a hello.

Worried, you call Aisha, your closest friend and confidant. She’s over in no time, bringing along her girlfriend while you rant on the phone about your worries. They stop at the drugstore on the way.

The cause of your problems is discovered that day, and you collapse on the bathroom floor in agony, hands wiping at your face — through all the anger and fear and worry, you still love Tom. So much that Aisha even attempts to call Tom. But, alas, it’s sent straight to voicemail, and you realize he might’ve gone to extreme extents in blocking everyone.

You’re stuck going to the ultrasound with two lesbians and a frail old cat. Aisha is as supportive as ever, but as the doctor explains the process of each option, you feel sicker and sicker about the idea of getting rid of the fetus. In the end, you choose to keep the child you’re bearing, even if your ex-lover isn’t even in the picture.

Inevitably, the months pass, and as baby Charlie is brought into the wonderful world, you realize life as a single mother isn’t as scary as you thought it would be. In the first few months of your pregnancy, you’d kept tabs on what film Tom was doing and which was coming out next, but after the hormones and cravings, you’d decided to let the past sizzle and fade out in the way it was meant to all along.

It’s been almost three years since that fateful breakup, and Charlie is just reaching two and a half years old. You’re still single, and you’re okay with that. Charlie is all you need, all you’ve ever wanted, and the most important thing in your life. He’s young, and school is still a couple years away, but you enjoy having the toddler by your side, walking hand in hand with you because you’re his guardian, his provider, his only parent. You make him your only priority, because you don’t want him to grow up without anyone to love, or anyone to love him.

It’s hard, though. It’s hard because he’s a constant reminder of what didn’t happen, a constant reminder of what went wrong and of what you no longer have. You miss Tom more than words can express, and Charlie’s mop of brown curls reminds you of all the moments you’d run your fingers through Tom’s hair. You reminisce more than you’d like to, about Tom and your past, and though Charlie is technically half of the Brit, he’s one hundred percent yours. Because you’re the only one here, and that’s alright.

“Mummy,” Charlie tugs on your shirt’s hem while you move the shopping cart forward through the aisle. “Can we get the goldfish with superheroes?”

You jutt your lip out in a smile, nodding happily. “Of course we can, bub.”

As you step forward, you pit stop in the aisle, nearly tripping on the cart. You make direct eye contact with the man you used to love with your entire heart. The man who walked out with your heart and never gave it back. He’s staring right back at you, curls looking as fluffy as ever, face still a soft glow. Your breath hitches, and it’s then that you realize Charlie is still talking.

“Mummy?” He asks, and it’s just loud enough for Tom to hear. Harry, who’s beside Tom with an arm full of crackers and chips. Tom moves forward a few steps, hastily in an attempt to get more information.

“Uh, hi,” His smile is tight lipped as he stands at the other end of your shopping cart. Charlie shies away from strangers, standing behind your leg and holding your shirt with his grubby hands.

“Hi,” you return his awkward, reserved demeanor.

“Mummy who’s this?”

“‘Mummy?’” Tom has a follow up question for everything, and you internally panic, unsure on how to approach this.

You’d spent so long deciding how you should tell Tom that he was a dad. You spent hours debating on if you should pick up the phone or drive over just to tell him a truth you’ve kept inside for so long. You’ve abandoned social media, only sharing aspects of your life you can afford to post. Charlie is only occasionally on your page, but it’s not like Tom would see that, not after all that’s happened.

Your mouth opens and closes while you debate on how to reply. You’re physically incapable of saying your response, and it makes you even more nervous. You’re nervous on how he might react, what he’ll say, but most importantly, if he’ll stay.

“Is this…?

“My kid…” You fill in. “I- I mean our… our kid.” You pull your bottom lip between your rows of teeth, and you watch as Tom’s face undergoes thousands of expressions all at once. He’s surprised, shocked, happy, afraid, uncertain. You want the world to swallow you whole, suck you up so you don’t have to go through any of this again. But you don’t. Instead, you hold Charlie’s hand a little tighter.

“Our kid?” He drops a can of soup and you flinch at the loud noise.

“Mummy, who’s that?”

“That’s…” You don’t know how to answer his question. Instead, you lean down to his level, comfortingly and gently. “He’s a man.”

“Who’s that man?”

“He’s… your daddy.”

“I thought… no daddy?”

You purse your lips and furrow your brows. Tom’s watching the entire encounter from his place, but after a few beats, he steps forward, entering your bubble. Charlie doesn’t cower away this time, but looks up in curiosity.

“Hi, Charlie,” Tom extends his hand, adjusting his jeans so he can lean down just as you are, kneeling beside the young boy.

You look down, avoiding your worries and Tom’s gaze. He’s tearing up, and you want to cry too. You’re in a fucking supermarket, for god’s sake. This wasn’t how you envisioned any of this planning out, and though you’re mentally kicking yourself for letting it happen this way, you can’t help but feel like maybe this was meant to be. Written in the stars or whatever the folks say — you’re just grateful Charlie has at least a sliver of hope for two parents. Not that you can’t handle it, because you can, but you know someone like Tom wouldn’t want to miss something as important as this.

“I’m To- I’m…” He swallows thickly, making brief eye contact with you before looking back at Charlie. “I’m your dad.”

“Do you love my mummy?” He’s not shameless, but he’s still that shy little boy. “My friend says daddy’s love mommy’s so you must love mine, right?”

Tom lets a tear fall while he exhales a chuckle. He swipes the drop with the tips of his fingers, and the hand gripping Charlie’s squeezes it a little tighter. A glance in your direction is all it takes for him to answer Charlie’s question. “Yeah, buddy. I do.”

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[imaginationintowords]

Lost on You

Chapter 10

Peter Parker x Sister!Reader Steve Rogers x Reader Avenger x Reader; Hybrid Social Media AU

Series Masterlist

"Can we please talk?" Steve pleaded.

"Steve-"

"Please Y/n,"he begged, his voice cracking, "Five minutes and I'll be out of your hair, for good. I promise."

"Okay," I agree.

As he closes the door, I take a look at his appearance. He doesn't look so good, I mean physically he looks the same, because of the serum. But if you really knew Steve, like the way I do, you can tell he isn't. His eyes immediately give him a way, dark circles surrounding them. They don't look as bright as they used to.

I can't help but feel bad for him, it's a normal human reaction. Even though he hurt me, that doesn't mean all the love we had went away. It's still there, maybe it'll always be there, but whether or not I want to continue that love, I just don't know if I can.

Steve stays by the door, trying to give me some space.

"I know I've apologized countless of times, but I still just need to say how utterly sorry I am. I don't think I'll ever not be sorry for what I have done. I hurt you, when I have promised you countless of times that I would never. You expressed your fears of relationships, having been hurt in the past and I had promised I would never do that. Yet here I am, no better than them, because not only did I do it, I broke that promise and your trust. If I have to spend my whole life making it up to you, I will," he starts off.

"That won't be necessary," I interject, I give him a wave continue.

"I love you, Y/n. And what happened that night, should have never happened. I can't even give you a real answer as to why it happened, other than the fact that we weren't thinking.

No, let me rephrase that, I wasn't thinking. I don't know what came over me, because why would I do that? Not when I have you. Not when our relationship was at it's all time best. Why would I throw all of that away for cheap mindless sex," he pauses, noticing my wince at that.

I nod for him to continue.

"I've kept myself up the last two weeks questioning why did I do it. And I don't have an answer. I just don't. And that's not good enough. It isn't. Because if the shoe was on the other foot, which I know it never would have been, I wouldn't accept that answer as well. And you don't have to, accept it. Because it's cowardly," he clears the lump in his throat, trying to hold back.

"I so badly wish I can go back to two weeks and never do that again, but I can't and now we have to deal with the consequences of it all, and that's all on me," he breaks.

"I love you so much. And I fucking ruined that. I was going to ask you to marry me and I fucked that up," he cries out, falling to the floor, his hands on his face as he cries.

"Steve," I rush over to his side, rubbing his back soothingly.

"I know that doesn't change anything, because I still cheated," he says looking over at me, his eyes red.

"It doesn't," I confirm, feeling myself begin to cry.

This is it.

We both know that.

That this moment right now, is our last.

We stay there, looking at each other as we cry. Steve reaches for me and brings me into his arms, and we just hold each other as we cry.

"I am so sorry," he cries into my hair, his grip tight, afraid to let go.

"I know," I cry into his chest, "I know you are."

After god knows how long, we slowly pull our faces away, still holding on to one another, just to get a look at our faces. The crying is now just silent tears rolling down our faces.

"I love you," he whispers.

"I know," my throat hurts, "I love you too."

I did the only thing I could think of, I let my heart take control, and I slowly leaned up to meet his lips. You can feel the desperation and heartache behind the kiss. The kiss got a little more heated, both of us so desperate, knowing that we will never be this way with each other again.

Next thing I knew, we were both naked in my bed, Steve hovering over me.

"Are you sure?" he asks, making sure I was okay with it.

"Yes," I whisper, trying to take in every feature on his face.

The way he looks while we make love for the last time.

There's something incredibly sad about making love for the last time, knowing that it will be the last time. Most couples don't have that pleasure of knowing the last time they made love was their last, so they don't get to treasure it. Always hoping that they could've had one more night together, just to know that there was love there.

Here in this moment, there is love. I don't doubt that Steve didn't love me, I know it. The look in his eyes in this very moment say everything I needed to know about our relationship, and I hope mine do as well.

The sadness, the love, the regret, it's all there.

We try our best not to cry, but we can't help it. It's sad.

It's sad knowing that this great love is over. And not knowing if you'll ever find one like it again. Or even not knowing if you'll ever love again.

After we're done, we lay there, not in each other's arms. We remain quiet, seeing which one will be the first to say the final goodbye.

"Steve," I whisper so quietly, that if not for his super soldier hearing I don't think he would've been able to hear.

He looks over at me, tears rolling down his face. He nods his head, knowing what I'm thinking.

He slowly gets out of my bed and makes his way around the room getting his clothes on.

I don't dare look. I can't. If I do, I don't think I'll be able to let him leave.

"Thank-you for everything," he quietly says once dressed, opening the door, "Goodnight Y/n."

He quietly closes the door behind him as he leaves.

I close my eyes and let the tears fall, hoping the exhaustion of the day will consume me into a heavy sleep soon.

The next morning I'm woken up by FRIDAY letting me know that the team meeting starts in an hour. I thank her, my voice hoarse, don't know if it's because I just woke up or the aftermath of last night.

I quietly get dressed, and look around my room.

It's quiet. Peace.

It's lonely. I kinda like that.

It no longer feels like home.

I don't think I can stay here much longer.

Now that Steve and I are officially done, I think it's time I find some independence.

If the last two weeks have taught me anything is that, I need a little more independence.

I need a life outside of the Avengers.

A life where I don't work and live in the same building. Where I can escape.

Play music as loud as I want. Eat whatever the hell I want, and not worry if someone else has eaten it already.

Don't get me wrong I loved living here, I really did. I never had that college experience, we couldn't afford tuition and dorm living. Living here has let me experience the roommate life. But things are starting to get crowded. Everyone knows everything. You never have a chance to just breathe.

That's what I want, just a moment to breathe, without Sam and Bucky fighting over the tv remote. Without Tony dropping in in the middle of the night because he needs you in the lab ASAP, because he had a revelation in his sleep. I love Wanda, but sometimes you just need a break from even your best of friends. And now that Steve and I are officially over, how is dating going to be like for either of us. Not that that's going to happen anytime soon, but it's eventually going to happen, and I really don't want to see that with him, and him with I. It's just too complicated.

I have never been alone before. I've always had someone right there.

I think, no I know, it's time I be on my own. Doesn't mean I won't be an Avenger or work for Tony, it just means that I won't be living here with them.

And for the first time in the last two weeks, I feel content.

Free.

Like I can finally breathe.

That's how I know this is the right decision for me.

Summary: Y/N Parker is Peter’s older sister. She is ten years older than Peter, making her 26 years-old. She is also an Avenger, her powers are very similar to Wanda’s; telekinesis, mind reading, teleportation, and elemental bending. She has been an Avenger far longer than Peter, and like Peter her identity is kept a secret. As well as being an Avenger she works in the lab alongside Tony, she is a science genius. She has also been dating Steve Rogers for the past 3 years. Their relationship is as great as it can possibly be, that is until Steve does something that has Y/n questioning not only their entire relationship, but her place in the Avengers. It opens her eyes to how much of her life has revolved around Steve and work. Never really experiencing life like everyone else her age has.

Series tag list: @chaoticpete @eliza5616 @supraveng @faithtrustandrobbiekay @inquisitor-selvala @dumbbitch11 @im-not-an-armrest-im-short @jessyballet @reann-loves-sebstan @thelostallycat @castalette @lovely-geek @malfoyy123 @zombieninjadinostayssilent @welovecaptainamericaass @dontbetooobvious @stop-drop-and-drumroll @cvelarded @ophelias-heart​ @csigeoblue​

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[baekterflyeffect]

half moon ― two

You remembered the messy clothing sketches sprawled on the desk, and also remembered how proud you were when you modeled for his final assignment. The promise of you being the first one to wear his first official product was made. Years passed by and the promise was forgotten as it wasn’t meant to be kept; until you received an invitation that has B.B.H signed on it. Ironically, you found yourself confronting your past at your ex-boyfriend new collection launch event with your memories with him flashing through your mind.

☽    pairing: byun baekhyun x fem reader ☽    characters: exo members, red velver members, others. ☽    genre: angst, slice of life, adult-hood, hurt-comfort.   ☽    aus: ex to something!AU, beauty youtuber Reader, fashion designer Baekhyun ☽    warnings:  vague description of depression, suicidal situations, unhealthy relationship. ☽    word count: 2.4k

☽   half moon masterlist  |   general masterlist

― note: please take the warning seriously! i personally have a very hard time writing this because it reminded me of all those times i have been put in a situation similar like that. enjoy the short update!

― taglist: @fullsuninbloom / @in3vitably3v3 / @itsbaekhyunsbutt / @byunbeautifulb / @yeol-wish​. let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged!

Eighteen years old her would not believe how she would be standing in her current position right now. With people of influence from across the globe crowding inside a room to attend a launch event of a brand that is successful. Her past self wouldn’t believe that she would be standing in the middle of a crowd, taking pictures to upload on her social media with champagne on her hand. 

The night after the awkward encounter with Baekhyun feels so surreal for her, walking back to her friends with her cheeks flushed red and thoughts in a jumble of mess. She couldn’t blame it on the liquor, she hadn’t taken one when she talked to her ex-boyfriend. Yet, his presence was enough to make her drunk. 

Great time, can’t wait to review the new products soon! Xx. She typed for her instagram story that showcases the event of the night. Before she even gets to press the post button, Seulgi is calling out to her name, ever so softly.  

“It’s picture time, you want to come?” Seulgi questioned her. There is nothing new about taking pictures at the designed booth of an event, but she hesitated to agree. Baekhyun would be there, she knew as much. After all, nobody could go home from an event without taking a picture with the owner of it. 

A sigh escapes her lips, she knew ten years had passed since her romance with Baekhyun died, but it would be a lie if she doesn’t feel the same spark when she encountered him earlier. Then again, a picture wouldn’t hurt.. right? So she grins at her best friend, nodding her head then to agree. 

But of course, it would. 

Baekhyun didn’t change at all, at least with his act of affection. He was flirty with every of his guests―male and female―, putting his arm around them, smiling at them so sweetly, and even holding one of the guest’s hands for whatever reason it was.

She shouldn’t feel like this, like her emotions are eating her up alive. There is no valid reason on why she should be jealous; knowing that Baekhyun is a man whose language of love is skinship. She tried her best to shrug it off, to not look, and it wasn’t until Seulgi nudged her shoulder that she realized she had been glaring at Baekhyun for a good two minutes. 

“Coming here is a bad idea. Very, bad.” She groans, gripping on Seulgi’s arm ever so tightly. The chuckle that came out of Seulgi’s lips are comforting, it was one of her chuckles that indicates she understood. 

“It will be okay. We’ll get out of here, he’ll be gone again, and you’ll forget about him.” Seulgi reassures.  Oh, how she wished she could trust her best friend. 

And it is frustrating how she knows she wouldn’t forget about him as when it was her turn, Baekhyun’s smile turned into something that is different. His smile was gorgeous, the smile that she remembered was reserved for her and only her when they were dating. His signature smile where only the edge of his lips curled, a lopsided smile that always made her body tremble. 

Oh, how much she wished Baekhyun was still hers. 

It was nonchalant, the way Baekhyun leaned in to her and wrapped his arm around her waist to take a picture. But she wouldn’t miss how tight his fingertips are on her skin, as if he wouldn’t let go. She genuinely wished he doesn’t, but when the stutter sound reaches her ears, Baekhyun pulls away right away. 

What she didn’t notice was when Baekhyun slipped in something to her slightly opened purse.

The entire ride back home with Seulgi and Sehun is quite awkward on her part, only listening to the couple’s random banters without her joining. She usually helps Seulgi in bullying Sehun, but with her mind filled with Baekhyun, she couldn’t find the strength to do so. 

She wasn’t always like this, she was always cheerful despite the hardship she faced, her head always held high as if nothing will ever ruin her happiness. It was only after Baekhyun left her and took those parts of her away together with him. 

For some people, ten years is a long time for someone to move on. And she used to think the same way too, because who could stay in love with someone even after ten years of separation? Then again, her relationship with Baekhyun has always been more special. 

Baekhyun was not her first love, neither was he her first everything. She had her fair share of ex-boyfriends before Baekhyun, even after him, but nobody ever came close to what she had with him. 

Because nobody went through so many hardships with her for five years, nobody held her close the way Baekhyun did and made sure she’s safe and sound, nobody loved her permanent wounds as much as he did, and nobody loved her as much as Baekhyun did.

There was a point in her life after her separation with Baekhyun where she realized she depended herself too much on him, that she knew being apart from him was a good thing, that her love for Baekhyun had started to get unhealthy. Relapses are not uncommon in her part where she collapsed in her bathroom door begging for someone to save her, but she managed to walk past that, opening a new chapter in her life with memories and wounds forgotten. 

If there was anything Baekhyun had taught her, it was how to love herself. If Baekhyun was able to love her through and through; why couldn’t she do the same?

The road for her to be able to value and love herself wasn’t easy, there are so many trials and errors. What matters is the fact that she managed to pick her life back together and be as successful as she is now. 

Baekhyun coming to her life after ten years of separation only made her realize that after all these times, her feelings for Baekhyun are still deeply rooted inside of her. She may have realized that she no longer depended on her happiness to him, but she acknowledged that she wished her romance with Baekhyun never came to an end. 

Her thoughts are cut short when Seulgi calls her name, questioning her how she’s feeling. Making her sigh before answering to her best friend.

“I’m not sure, honestly.” Mumbled her, her fingers unconsciously playing with the hem of her outer shirt. “I never imagined I would be able to converse with him, let alone meeting him at an event like this.”. It’s a lie, of course she knew it is inevitable to not meet him under her earlier circumstances. 

“I was shocked when you came up to him like that. What did you guys even talk about in that short period of time?” Sehun asked her, taking a glance at her from his rear view mirror. 

A groan escapes from her lips the same time Seulgi pinches him, leave it to Sehun to be rather insensitive in a situation like this. She stays quiet for a little, recalling her little reunion with Baekhyun earlier at the event, in the middle of the venue with curious eyes focused on them. 

“He only asked how I’ve been, and automatically I asked the same,” she huffs, “which are dumb because I know very well how he had been.” 

Sehun chuckled then, quietly making a U-turn to her apartment complex. “That’s good, at least he didn’t make you cry.” 

Before she could answer Sehun with insulting words, her phone rings indicating there is a new notification. Taking it as a great chance to ignore Sehun to check her phone that she had been ignoring throughout the event. The first, newest notification, manages to make her squeaked rather uglily. 

INSTAGRAM: [baekhyun]: mentioned you in a story.

“How the fuck he knew my Instagram account!?” She screamed to her phone, completely forgetting the presence of her two best friends. Her heart beat is going faster, she could even hear how loud her heart thumping because of that one notification. 

“Has it crossed your little brain that it might be his social media admin who posted it?” Sehun questioned her mockily. She shook her head right away, defending her statement then. 

“No, this is his personal Instagram account, not his official brand account. Whatever, he was probably just posting every picture he took with everyone earlier.” 

Before she could even think about what Baekhyun posted, Sehun announced that they had arrived in her apartment building. Both her best friends bidding her goodbye and an unnecessary good luck for no reason at all. She did notice the soft smile adorning Seulgi’s lips though, making her wonder what’s inside her friend’s head.

She doesn’t remember much what happened the night at the event the moment she opened her eyes. There is no after taste of alcohol in her throat and she doesn’t wake up with a massive headache. It is enough of a sign that she didn’t drink alcohol the night before. With a sigh, she took her phone to check her notifications―nothing weird, just the usual new partnership emails and contracts that she needs to review later. 

As she mindlessly scrolled through her notifications bar, she noticed one unopened notification from Instagram. She winches a little at the username, getting a reminder of his husky yet soft voice and gentle touches last night. Her sleepy state decided that it is time to open and see what Baekhyun had posted on his Instagram Story. 

The post is nothing out of the ordinary, just a picture of them―rather awkwardly―standing next to each other with a smile on their face. What led her heart to beat faster was his caption, and the way he slipped his hand inside her shirt pocket. 

Lovely to see you again. Here’s to a smooth sailing future for the both of us. Was what he wrote as a caption, for his fans, of course it wouldn’t be odd that he wrote his caption that way.. but a smooth sailing future? For the both of them? What the hell it was supposed to mean. 

What’s more unsettling for her is the fact that Baekhyun didn’t post another story with his other guests, only with her, with a caption that led her heart beat faster. 

She doesn’t want to think about it, because if she does, she would read too much into things and nothing great would come from it. So she shrugged it off, placing her phone down on her bed to even out her breathing. 

Inhale, exhale, everything is going to be alright. After all, she’s nothing like her past self. She has a great stable job, lives in a good environment, and is crowded by only the best people. There is nothing to worry.

With a reminder of how grateful and how much she loves her job, she gets up from her bed to stretch her sore limbs. Opening the curtain in her room to greet the sun with a smile on her face. It is only ten in the morning, she notices. The day is still long and she could do her job peacefully without any deadlines rushing her. 

There are plenty of things she could do, going out to get herself a cup of coffee while editing one of her videos that she had recorded the days before would be a great choice for her to not procrastinate, she deems. Nonetheless how much she adores and loves being alone inside her apartment, she of course enjoys being outside too. 

She didn’t have much thought when she was done dressing herself up, going out with only a t-shirt and a pair of worn out jeans, dressing for her own comfort as she knew she would spend at least two hours sitting and looking at her laptop screen.

The smell of the familiar brew of coffee greeted her nostrils the moment she opened the door to the coffee shop she often visits. Making her lips stretch into a smile and positivity filled her body. Right away, she walks towards the line of people that are queuing to order, minding her own business by focusing on her phone to reply to any texts she received. 

She barely notices her surroundings, making her jump in shock when a very familiar voice calls her name. It doesn’t take her a second to even realize who had called her, knowing how she used to listen to that voice every day in her past. 

Turning her head to where the voice belonged, her eyes widened at the figure in front of her. Byun Baekhyun; fresh and blood, extremely attractive with his slightly oversized black hoodie and messy bed hair. She timidly waves her hand at him, unconsciously stepping to the side to give him space to stand next to her. 

“Didn’t know I’ll see you in here.” Baekhyun softly said once he stood next to her, his eyes set on her figure. She nods her head as an answer, not knowing what else she could talk about. Of course, he was right. Out of all places, she never thought she would see her ex standing next to her in her favorite coffee shop. 

“I live nearby,” she said shortly, continuing her words then for the sake of courtesy. “What about you?” 

Baekhyun's eyes rounded at her answer, then his lips stretched into a smile. “I just moved to this neighborhood, actually. Too many people have discovered where I lived so, yeah.” 

“I see. I hope you enjoy being around here.” 

He just laughs at that, nodding his head towards her. They stood in silence then, both of them aware of the awkward atmosphere around them. When it was their turn to order, Baekhyun took the liberty to tell the cashier her order, making her stunned. He doesn’t say much as they wait for their order, she doesn’t dare to say anything too. 

Only after they received their order did he break the silence, “I have to go,” was what he said as he took a glance on his silver wristwatch, then patting her head with his left hand. “I left you my number the other day, maybe you didn’t realize.. but, contact me, yeah? I would love to catch up.” 

She just nod awkwardly at him, seeing his lopsided smile before he turned around to walk outside the coffee shop. The supposedly cold drink in her hand feels too warm. After all the years they separated, he still remembered her favorite coffee order―and she’s sure her heart will soon fail her with how rapidly it is beating.

“One cafe latte with two espressos shot for the lady.”

― additional note: this chapter is so tiring to write and that is why i couldn’t even bother to continue writing more even though the gdoc has around 4k in it, so i decided to finish the chapter right here. do let me know what you thought of this one!! i appreciate it a lot <3

[beaglesinbowties]

This is a special occasion. Canon divergent AU, prompt “Kara’s food addiction”.

When Alex turns fifteen, she realizes she might like girls. To say that it scares her is an understatement. It’s not like she notices every girl she sees, but a few, well. There are just some girls that she can’t help but feel breathless around. It had been confusing enough, suddenly having a girl around her own age living in her house, but to then realize how pretty that girl is…?

At fifteen-and-a-half, Kara tells Alex there’s nothing wrong with liking girls. Kara does too, after all.

“It’s one thing I don’t understand about this planet. Boy, girl, whatever? I like who I like.” Kara frowns and mumbles something in Kryptonese Alex doesn’t catch. “There’s a girl in my third period Home Ec class that just, wow,” Kara adds with a slow shake of her head. “She’s so pretty and she made the most incredible pie yesterday. From scratch.”

The next day when Alex nearly sets the house on fire while trying to make dinner, she’s inconsolable. She’s not dumb. She followed the correct procedure for trying to put out a grease fire—except for the fact that the lid she grabbed was insulated plastic. Her panic responses just aren’t the best.

She still isn’t sure how the fire started. Her body is growing and changing (as her mom keeps unpleasantly pointing out) and maybe she’s a bit clumsier than she would like. All that matters is Kara laughs, then tells her they can always order takeout. Kara beams at the pizza delivery girl, and Alex somehow feels worse.

At sixteen, Alex decides she doesn’t like girls. Or boys. What does it matter, anyway? She was confused. Kara loves her deeply. She loves Kara. She’s figured out her role, and those deep aches in her chest that happen around Kara are just a warning. Nothing is permanent. She’s lost her dad, and she could lose Kara or her mom at any time, too.

Kara is busy talking about how a boy in her study group made her the best grilled cheese and tomato soup she’d ever tasted, anyway.

Eighteen brings college and a whole other world. Maybe Alex does like girls, after all, but something is missing when they flirt and smile. Kara calls and her heart races in a way that she’d expected it to when she’d kissed a girl for the first time.

Then, her heart sinks when Kara spends most of the time gushing over the cute girl in her Bio class that brought homemade dumplings for lunch.

Alex decides that she’s just broken. Off. She’ll never fall in love like most other people seem to do.

A few months later, she finds a friendly group on campus that tells her not being able to fall in love doesn’t make her broken. Normal is a made up word, and she doesn’t have to feel any certain way. She still cares and loves, just differently than is marketed and packaged by the mainstream media. It makes her feel better.

Eventually she discovers she can fall in love, sort of, and stumbles through a few romantic relationships. They’re sweet and good, or sour and bitter, but tend to end the same way. She and Kara find a pattern amidst it all.

Not being great in the kitchen is something they share. They can make passable meals when pressed, but lack the time, energy, or interest to figure out how to make things delicious.

So they bond over trying takeout from this place and that place, and when Alex is really down, Kara makes no qualms of flying halfway around the world for the best dish of something-or-other.

Alex can’t quite do the same, but she’s learned to focus on the things she can do.

“Hey,” Alex greets with a smile when Kara shows up at her window at ten PM.

“Hey,” Kara mumbles back as she sulks off in the direction of the couch, her cape dragging the entire way.

Quickly putting two and two together, Alex closes the window and hurries to the kitchen. If she’s remembering correctly, she bought a few new pints of ice cream two days before.

Ice cream and spoons in hand, she rushes back to the couch.

Kara gives her a wan smile.

Alex doesn’t ask about the date. It’s unnecessary. She raises both pints of ice cream, and isn’t surprised when Kara nods toward the Half Baked. She hands Kara both the pint and a spoon, keeping the Cherry Garcia and the other spoon for herself.

“I hate love,” Kara eventually mumbles around two giant chunks of brownie and cookie dough.

Focused on digging out a cherry, Alex shakes her head. “No you don’t.”

“No I don’t,” Kara sadly agrees.

“At least you didn’t almost get married before figuring out it wouldn’t work.” Alex thoughtfully tucks a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth. She’s over it now. It had happened. There had been some good before the end, and that’s what she likes to focus on.

Kara sighs. She stares down at her pint, using a quick burst of low-grade heat vision to free up some more chunks of brownie. “No. I’ve just been so desperate that I go out with basically any jerk that treats me nice for five seconds.”

Alex opens her mouth to try and assure Kara that’s not the case. She closes her mouth instead. “Maybe you should try dating a woman. It’s been a while, right?”

“If you can’t find someone, how am I supposed to? You’re one of the best people I know, and basically every even-kinda-gay woman’s wet dream.”

“Not every woman’s, no.”

With a huff, Kara offers over her pint. “Swap.”

Alex accepts, already knowing she won’t find a single chunk of cookie dough or brownie. She holds it and debates with herself about whether or not she wants to eat plain vanilla ice cream.

After a few moments of hearty scooping, Kara pauses. “So, what woman was too dumb to fall for you?” Another pause. “I swear to Rao, if this is about Vicki Donaghue again—”

“What? No.” Deciding her stomach is too tight to eat, Alex sets her pint down. “That was just, I don’t know. I was kind of attracted to her and she was my friend, but I wasn’t very upset when we drifted apart.”

Kara makes a face, then also sets her ice cream aside. “That’s such a lie. You were upset off and on all through high school about her. I know, because I was always the one you came to, asking the most annoying questions about your feelings.”

Embarrassment and confusion rising, Alex grabs a pillow and smacks Kara in the chest. “I never did that.”

“Well if it wasn’t about Vicki, then who?”

Alex groans and rolls her eyes. “Just because you had to tell me about every stupid crush you ever had, it doesn’t mean I had, or have, to do the same.”

Kara blinks and frowns. She stares at Alex. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Are you kidding?” Alex began ticking her fingers off. “It was like every week: some cute girl in class made you pie, some sweet boy brought you this kind of sandwich, someone brought cookies for Valentine’s Day, et cetera, et cetera.”

“But…” Kara’s frown deepens. “I love food.”

Releasing an exasperated chuckle, Alex nods her head. “I know. You developed crushes on basically anyone who fed you.”

“No,” Kara carefully enunciates as she slowly shakes her head. “I love food. Just because I like what they made and shared, it didn’t mean I liked them.”

Alex jerks her head back. “Then why the heck did you talk about them any time I tried talking to you about my feelings? After a while it was like you just preemptively had to rave about some boy or girl.”

“I. You.” Kara blushes and averts her eyes. “You were always talking about Vicki.”

“It wasn’t always, and it was about liking girls, not Vicki.”

Kara doesn’t respond, instead gripping the edges of her cape. “But I know there was one,” her voice tapers off. There’s an odd glint in her eyes when she locks gazes with Alex. “So, by your logic, I developed feelings for people who brought me food?”

“Well,” Alex pauses, her cheeks feeling warm. “At the time, it seemed more exclusive to people who made you food.” She rubs her face in an attempt to cool it. “Which, okay, does still seem excessive, even for you.”

Kara scowls. It fades and her expression becomes wistful. “So, since you’ve been paying attention to this for a while… who have you seen me share food with?”

“What?” Alex makes a face. “I mean, I’ve seen you share something with Nia or Brainy.”

“Alex.” Kara’s inhale is audible. “Who do I regularly shared food with.”

“Well, no one.”

Kara shakes her head. She leans slightly forward, her eyes intent as she watches Alex’s face.

Alex swallows, wondering if there’s sweat beading her forehead. It’s hard to think with Kara looking at her so intensely. “I mean, I guess, just…” All the air escapes her lungs. “Me.”

“Yes.” A slow, beatific grin grows on Kara’s face.

It terrifies Alex, so she forces a laugh. She waves a dismissive hand in the air. “We’re family.” Alex has the dawning understanding she’s said something very, very wrong.

Kara’s nostrils flare. She grits her teeth, then leans over to jerkily retrieve the pint of Half Baked. She glares at Alex as she blindly scoops up a spoonful of ice cream and shoves it in her mouth.

Alex doesn’t have time to react when her cheeks are suddenly gripped in both of Kara’s hands, and then soft, warm lips and cold, cold ice cream are all she knows.

Kara leans back and turns her red face away.

Stupefied, Alex can only work the giant mouthful of ice cream around her mouth. It doesn’t take her as long as she thinks, since most of it actually turns out to be both brownie and cookie dough mushed together.

As she chews, realization leaves her speechless. “Oh my god. You left me some brownie.”

“Of course, I kiss you and that’s all you noti—”

Alex leaps across the sofa and twists, her hands finding Kara’s shoulders.

Oh, is all she thinks as she confirms what she’s always wondered. Kara does, indeed, taste better than anything else she’s ever tried. When Kara pulls her closer and refuses to let go, she thinks maybe Kara feels the same way, too.

[anarchistgumball]

Bakukami

Continuation of this fic not nessicary to read but highly appreciated!

Events from the previous night flooded Bakugo’s mind. Shit. Kaminari was curled up to his side lightly gripping his shirt, he didn’t know if he should wake Kaminari up or let him sleep because of the tough night he had. Bakugo cracked his neck and tried to escape from Kaminari’s grip, thankfully he succeeded. He went to the kitchen where Kirishima was making a protein shake (one of the few things he could make)

“So uhh are you going to tell me why Kaminari’s on our couch?”

“Jiro cheated on him, so he came here”

“Oh shit…. Why’d he go to you though…. You arent exactly the… nicest.”

Bakugo just shrugged and got out things to make breakfast. While Bakugo was cracking open eggs Kirishima seemed to be thinking.

“You know we should go get his things”

“What the hell do you mean?”

“Well, he probably doesn’t want to be around Jiro right now and it’s just a manly thing to do something for your bros”

Bakugo rolled his eyes. “We’ll talk to him about it.”

Kirishima nodded, poured out his shake and went to sit on the chair beside the couch. When Bakugo was done he could hear Kaminari yawning. Fuck, why did he have to be adorable and in pain and not his. He sighed and divided up the eggs for him, Kirishima, and their (hopefully at least semi- permanent) ‘guest’.

“Hey idiots”

Both Kaminari and Kirishima’s eyes lit up when they saw the plates.

“Thanks bakubro!”

Kaminari just smiled, as Bakugo handed off the plates.

“So.. Dunce face”

Kaminari raised an eyebrow at him, swallowed what he was chewing and spoke “Yeah?”

“Would it be okay if me and Shitty hair got your stuff from Jiro’s”

Kaminari looked down, face contorted in what looked like pain “yeah” It was quiet.

Kirishima put his plate on the coffee table and sat next to Kaminari, arms open. Once Kaminari’s plate was next to Kirishima’s he dove into the others arms. Kirishima rubbed circles into the others back while Bakugo awkwardly watched. Kirishima was definitely better than him at this though. Why couldn’t he be like Kirishima?

“Shhh Kami, it’s okay, it’ll get better.” He started stroking his hair. “We’ll help you, we all will. Me, Bakugo, Mina, Sero- we’re all here for you.”

Why couldn’t he help Denki? This wasn’t about Bakugo, he knew it wasn’t but now he felt like shit. Not necessarily their fault he felt like a shit friend- He should know that he should’ve said something like that, been more comforting. After a minute that seemed to last a lifetime Kaminari untangled himself from Kirishima.

“Thanks kiri”

Kiri just smiled while saying ‘no problem bro!’ Bakugo stared off somewhere trying to ignore everything.

Kirishima and him had just left to get Kaminari’s stuff. He was not looking forward to it, just knowing he’d have to interact with Jiro- someone who hurt Kaminari, left a bad taste in his mouth. Honestly on top of all the emotional shit if this got out it would effect her newfound career, how could she be so stupid? Once they pulled up Kirishima knocked on the door, smile dimmer. Jiro answered it, her eyes rimmed red. How the fuck did she have the audacity to cry when she caused this. She frowned.

“What are you doing here”

Kirishima opened his mouth to speak, but Bakugo interjected first. “We came to get Kaminari’s shit”

“No”

“What the hell do you mean ‘no’ I didn’t fucking ask- I told you why.”

“Kaminari has to come here if he wants his stuff and talk to me”

“Why?” At this point kirishima was on the sidelines while Bakugo and Jiro argued.

“Because I want- need to talk to him”

“No you don’t, not until he’s ready. Let us in.”

She wasn’t moving. “No”

Bakugo growled. “I swear to fucking god if you don’t let us in I’ll tell people and the damn media what you have done.” Shady? Completely. Did he care? Not in this instance. She moved. “Only his stuff.” Bakugo roughly entered, Kirishima treading after to him. They had trashbags to put Kaminari’s clothes and small things of his in. He went to their bedroom, it was somewhat messy- mostly Kaminari’s things strewn around. He couldn’t tell if it was his or Jiro’s doing. It didn’t matter as he shoved it into the bag, he took whatever might’ve been Kaminari’s not really knowing as the guy could wear sweats and a T-shirt one day and a crop top the next. He could hear Kirishima trying (and failing) to softly toss items like deodorant, body wash, and shampoo into the plastic bag.

“You guys don’t even fucking understand what happened” They could hear Jiro muttering.

“What did happen then” This time it was Kirishima who spoke up, voice harsher than normal. Jiro just pressed her lips into a thin line and stayed quiet.

When they got home Kaminari hugged them both, sniffling again.

“So uh We also got an air mattress because we didn’t know if you had a place to stay” Kirishima scratched the back of his head setting down the box that contained the mattress. Kaminari living with them was something Kirishima brought up on their way home, to Bakugo’s pleasure, he really didn’t want to be the one to open the conversation. It wasn’t a very long discussion before they abandoned going home in favor of getting the shitty bed. Kirishima didn’t mind another one of his best friends living with them especially if it meant less chores, Bakugo was pretty easy to convince seeing he already knew about his ‘soft spot’ for Kaminari.

“Oh I don’t want to intrude….I can find a place to stay”

“Or you can not let this go to waste and live here while you get back on your feet” In all honesty Bakugo would be fine with Kaminari never moving out, but he wouldn’t say that. He’d also be fine with helping Kaminari move on with Jiro but taking advantage of his friends while they were struggling wasn’t really his forte.

“Okay I guess but if ever geet in the way or intrude, or something-

“Pikachu shut up”

“Bro you aren’t intruding, we’d love it if you’d stay!” Kirishima elbowed Bakugo while he scowled.

“Okay guys, thanks! I love you two!” Kaminari basically launched himself towards the both of them, hugging them with one arm each.

“Love you too bro!”

“Yeah..” Was the only thing that escaped Bakugo’s mouth. When Kaminari released them, him and Kirishima kept talking about how cool it would be to live together. At least he wasn’t crying anymore.

@rreset (I didn’t know if you would want to be tagged in this but you requested a part two so here!)

[fanficnewbie]

“Fighting for Forever” - Chapter Five: Open Heart FanFic

This is my first story/series. The first 5 chapters are adaptations from the first 4 parts of “A Weekend with Dr. Ramsey” series with permission from @alwaysmychoices and then I continue my own original work in chapters 6-14.

I start this adapted storyline during Chapter 15 of the original OH series. There is a bit of AU, where I play around with the storyline a bit and insert two days between MC leaving the country club and returning to her apartment to find Landry packing. Some situations have been changed to keep with the original vision of @alwaysmychoices and make the story work in the direction I wanted it to go. However, I find my way back to the original in Chapters 6-8 and then move on past the ending of Book One during chapters 9-14.

My MC is female, Francesca Houseman, who has only had eyes for Ethan Ramsey from day one.

FULL SERIES

Chapter Five: “Afterglow” (adapted from “In the Morning Light”) 

4275 words

In this entry, from Chapter 15, we create the morning after Ethan and MC consummate their relationship - before she finds Landry packing boxes in her apartment.

(NSFW)

The sun dawned on Boston ray by ray and slowly brightened Ethan Ramsey’s apartment. It began with a stray beam of light breaking through the barriers of the master bedroom’s curtains, the first sign that night had transformed to morning, but soon, the bedroom was enveloped and illuminated the two stray souls who had found paradise under the cloak of the previous night’s moon.

Ethan woke first, unable to ignore the morning sunrise invading his bedroom.

A few months ago, the abundant natural light had been his primary attraction to this apartment. With only thin curtains to separate him from the Boston skyline, it was impossible for Ethan to sleep beyond his first alarm, and he lived much of his life under the shroud of twilight. By the time the rest of the world was waking up and making their first cup of coffee, Ethan was already in his office with piles of work to accomplish.

But after leaving Edenbrook, his purposeful manipulations were a constant reminder that life had changed. During his first post-Edenbrook hangover, he’d cursed everything – the sun, the curtains, the window, and himself – but never fixed it. He felt like upgrading his window dressings would be letting him off the hook, and Ethan Ramsey was always more than ready to punish himself for perceived misdoings.

This morning, however, as he watched Francesca bathed in the beaming sunlight, he didn’t feel like it would be so terrible to change his bedroom’s furnishings. Rather, it felt like a step in a new direction. It felt like he was on the cusp of a new world and different priorities. It felt like...fully letting her into his life.

Ethan’s chest constricted at the very thought. He was overwhelmed by how suddenly it was easy to imagine welcoming her into his world. Despite months of actively opposing her, she’d met the challenge and broken down all of his barriers to claim his heart. He always knew that, if he finally let her in, he could never go back. And now that she was here in his bed, he couldn’t fathom keeping her at arm’s length ever again.

The idea terrified him.

Until Francesca arrived, Ethan had been a god among men. Medicine was a game, and he always won. He tackled insurmountable obstacles like others approached a crossword puzzle. Personal relationships were insignificant in a life that revolved around his patients. Ethan Ramsey made a deal with the devil, winning success and prestige while losing a life outside of Edenbrook’s doors.

Then Francesca Houseman happened right as it all took a sharp turn. Life had quickly and inexplicably brought Ethan Ramsey to his knees; challenging his identity as a curer and rendering him useless to his loved one’s suffering. Yet, through it all, she was there. She was always there, even when he didn’t want her to be. She didn’t shy away from his ill temper or stony glares, and through it all, he was acutely aware of how he didn’t deserve her.

Ethan watched her sleep beside him in silent admiration. He had seen the tension she’d carried on her shoulders since Mrs. Martinez’s death, especially the permanent crinkle between her eyebrows that he recognized from his own reflection. But in slumber, her delicate features were soft now, she seemed at peace and Ethan almost felt as if he was witnessing something not meant for his eyes. He’d never felt the division between Francesca and Dr. Houseman so fiercely as he did this morning. Dr. Houseman was weighed down with the responsibility of saving lives and protecting patients, but Francesca was the woman who spent hours cuddling with his dog. It was a strange sensation as he acknowledged the contrast between her personal and professional personas while reconciling these differences into one figure.

Francesca stirred as the light attempted to disrupt her peaceful sleep. With eyebrows knit in frustration, she let out a sleepy “humph” as she tried to escape the sun in her half-asleep state, and inched closer to Ethan, burying her face in his chest to hide from the morning.

Ethan chuckled, his arms instinctively wrapping around her and gently smoothing her wild curls.

“Why the fuck is it so bright in here?” Francesca’s words were garbled and full of sleep.

“It’s morning,” Ethan whispered in return, and he could feel Francesca’s features twist in distaste against his chest.

“Hmph,” she mumbled again, discontent and hugging him closer as if it could bring back the night.

When Francesca fell asleep in Ethan Ramsey’s arms, she never wanted to wake up. She wanted to live in the precarious state of euphoria when she’d been so close to him. Even with his whispered promise to stay, she was burdened with the expectation that he would do what he always did and pull away. They’d crossed a line, and she was afraid to peek at what was on the other side.

“How is anyone supposed to sleep like this?” Francesca whined, earning another of Ethan’s chuckles. Her grip on the man beside her didn’t dare lessen. She held onto him – and their night together – like a raft in the middle of the ocean. Francesca knew what happened last night. She knew what they said, what they felt, and what they did. But this morning was a mystery, one that had the power to dash all of her hopes.

“If you can’t block the sun, you can’t ignore the alarm clock,” Ethan repeated his former philosophy for his former student and wondered if he would have taught her that if their relationship had not always hung on the balance of professional and passionate. When he campaigned for Francesca to join Edenbrook’s residency, he recognized the potential in her that he could mold into excellence. Without their intense feelings for one another, would he have been able to reform her lifestyle to emulate his, or was she always destined to change him?

Francesca carefully pulled away from his warm, muscular chest just enough to look up at him, confounded enough by his statement to break her hold by a few precious inches. 

“You designed your bedroom to make sure you’d make it to work early?” Francesca repeated, trying her best not to smile.

“I’m not sure I would phrase it like that, but I suppose I did,” Ethan confirmed, amused by her apparent interest.

Francesca bit on her lower lip, trying hard to hold it in before the giggle finally escaped, “That might be the most ‘Ethan Ramsey’ thing I’ve ever heard.”

“There are other ‘Ethan Ramsey’ things?” Ethan challenged her, pushing her hair behind her ear so he could see her sassy smile better. Without her saying a word, he already knew that she was about to be a smart-ass, and he found himself looking forward to it.

“Mmmhmm,” Francesca hummed.

“Like?” Ethan prompted.

“Like reading a book about doctors on social media, when you’re a doctor with no presence on social media,” Francesca’s eyes sparkled with mischief, “Well that one is mine but if you want to hear the things I’ve heard about you, they’re much more interesting.”

Ethan took the bait, “And what have you heard about me?” 

“Let’s see…” Francesca pondered aloud, resting her chin on his chest, “During my first week, I was walking through the halls when a resident said, ‘I can’t decide if I should focus on his ass or the fact that he’s a total ass.’”

Ethan’s eyes visibly widened, though he attempted to maintain an air of disinterest, and it made Francesca laugh.

“Or the nurse who said that you were the world’s only living heart donor...”

“You found that funny?” his breath was hot against her skin, his stubble so close that it threatened to scratch her skin. Francesca sucked in her breath, suddenly overwhelmed by how close she held this man.

“No” she chided, “I found it hilarious.” She swallowed hard when she found the heat in his now narrowed gaze. She hadn’t given him the nickname of “Dr. McSexy” lightly, but holy shit, she never imagined how truly hot Dr. Ramsey could be.

“There’s one about your dick, I think…” Francesca teased him and quickly found the outrage she was hoping for.

“That’s completely inappropria –“ Ethan’s voice raised, he was prepared to talk about how unprofessional such talk would be in the workplace, but Francesca cut him off with a kiss.

“A joke,” Francesca finished for him, whispering against his lips before adding, “But I think you may be just past your prime to fully appreciate a dirty joke.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow, “Are you calling me old, Francesca?”

Her body flushed; she never imagined that anyone could make her own name sound that indecent.

“If I was, what would you do about it?” Francesca’s words were breathless now. She didn’t just want to know what he would do. She needed to feel it, to feel him.

“I’d tell you that’s not a nice thing to say, and then I might have to show you why…” Ethan’s voice was so close to her as his hand released her waist and snaked up her back, his strong fingers tangling in her hair to hold her head steady as she looked back at him. Ethan felt intoxicated by the glint in her eyes and the obvious need in her heated stare.

Right then, he knew he’d been right all along. The second he let Francesca in, he could never let her go.

“Are you offering to punish me, Dr. Ramsey?” Francesca’s eyes lingered on his lips, and he smirked softly.

Ethan’s lips were so close that Francesca couldn’t think of anything but their proximity. Her arms looped around his neck, running her fingers through his bedhead. She could still smell the faint memory of his cologne, and heat pooled in her core as she spotted the tiny bruise on his neck – her mark.

Ethan tilted her head, his lips brushed across her neck. His stubble deliciously scratched at her skin, and she instantly craned her neck to give him more access. His kisses were soft and careful, just enough that she wanted more, but in fairness, Francesca always wanted more of him.

His hands, however, had the freedom to explore every inch of her body. Goosebumps followed his tender touch. His hand roamed her back, working their way to her ass and then down her inner thighs. When he found the moisture between her thighs, his touch became lighter and more purposeful, and Francesca wriggled with desire as she moved her hips closer to his hand.

“Impatient, are we?” Ethan chuckled into her neck, watching as her body flushed with the internal heat spreading through her limbs.

“For you, always,” Francesca admitted.

“Last night, I told you that patience is a virtue,” Ethan reminded her as he gently rolled her on her back. Propping himself up on his elbows, Ethan’s fingertips returning to her body, grazing her navel and then moving lower and lower and just so close. Francesca swallowed again as she moved her thighs back apart, and she insisted she could feel the experience in his strong hands.

“I guess you’ll have to remind me,” Francesca whimpered, biting on her lower lip as her yearning mounted.

Ethan felt his body respond to her invitation, suddenly so affected by this woman that he didn’t care if they ever left this bed at all. Still, that didn’t mean he stopped teasing her. He took his sweet time to reach her core before his thumb finally grazed the sweet spot. She gasped at the sensation, already sensitized to the feeling of being with him - already so attuned to him.

Watching her react was enough to give any man an ego, and Ethan felt powerful as he recognized the control his touch had over her. She nearly lost it when he finally applied more pressure, just enough as he circled her sensitive nub. Ethan then extended his index finger, slowly sliding it inside her, and her delicious little gasp against his lips made him groan. He watched as she finally did fall apart at his continued caresses, her whole body vibrating, lips parted and eyes closed as she whimpered and squirmed in euphoric bliss. Then Francesca looked up at him as she slung an arm around his neck, pulling him to her kiss.“Mmm, Ethan, please,” Francesca whimpered, “I need you.”

And Ethan could never imagine turning her down ever again.

“Is that a command?” Ethan whispered, gently biting on her lower lip as he moved his hand away from her.

“Yes,” Francesca affirmed, taking his hand licking her taste off his finger, and his expression morphed into that of shameless awe.

Ethan’s unapologetic grip on her hips made her skin pulse with desire as he placed her exactly where he wanted her. Moving between her, he kissed along her neck as his length slowly filled her. Francesca’s body seemed to melt into his at the sensation, murmuring “oh fuck” as the pleasure settled over her again. She was delirious with the feeling and clung onto him with desire.

Francesca was love drunk, and she enjoyed every moment.

Ethan was lost in this woman as he moved against her, and he was determined to claim her in every way. She relished the feeling of his stubble on her skin and silently prayed that he would never shave. With each thrust, heat and desire pooled in their cores, and they savored every second. Francesca’s spine arched as the pleasure surged in sync with her eagerness to be closer to him.

“Ethan…” On her lips, his name was a whisper, praise, and warning. She was so close that all she could think about was him… them, and how much she never wanted to leave this moment. “It’s so good, oh god, I’m going to…,” she gasped as her body tightened around him, her fingers wrapped in his hair as she neared the edge and Ethan buried himself in her touch as his pace increased.

And then it was just too much. They burned too bright, too fast, too perfect. Francesca fell into her climax, deeply submerged in satisfaction and relief. Ethan fell over with her, savoring her sounds of ecstasy.  

And for a minute, they stayed together as the all-consuming orgasms subsided. Francesca’s tug on Ethan’s hair went limp as she slowly pushed his hair out of his face, gazing up at him with a look he couldn’t quite identify, but somehow, he knew her expression mirrored his. Instead of letting her go, Ethan’s arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer as he settled back to the bed.

“Still want to call me old?” Ethan’s laugh was hoarse with the effort he’d just given, much to Francesca’s amusement.

“If that’s what happens, I’ll never stop calling you old,” Francesca laughed, nuzzling into his chest as he lazily drew patterns into her skin with his fingertips.

How could Ethan not kiss her after that?

In fact, Ethan’s list of scenarios worth kissing Francesca over had grown exponentially overnight, and it was increasingly difficult to think of when he shouldn’t hold her close. He felt like an addict to her affection, Ethan doubted that anyone other than Francesca could ever make him feel this way and he wondered if he’d even recognize the man in the mirror again.

Neither of them was sure how long they stayed in tangled in his sheets, whispering pillow talk and enjoying each other’s proximity, but eventually, they decided to leave the sanctuary of Ethan’s bed to freshen up and face the morning.

Still high with their post-orgasmic bliss, they took their time in the large space of his walk-in shower, testing out the temperature as they shared the hot water. It was almost strange how close they felt. Even being a few steps away felt foreign, and they elected to avoid it as much as possible. As they washed each other, they admired their handiwork with the various bruises and scratches on each other’s body.

Francesca’s fingertips ran along the scratches on Ethan’s back, somewhat embarrassed by how emphatic she’d been, “Does that hurt?”

Ethan raised an eyebrow, casting a casual glance at his shoulder as he shook his head, “I’ll survive a few scratches, Rookie.”

Francesca threw a relaxed glare his way and kissed his shoulder as if apologizing to the scratches.

“I enjoyed everything you did last night,” Ethan turned to face her, the water running down his body, and for a moment, Francesca couldn’t help but stare.

“Even throwing a pillow at you and telling you to go fuck yourself?” Francesca asked sarcastically. 

Even though she brought it up as a joke now, she’d meant every single word she’d said, and given the opportunity, she’d say them again. She cared deeply for Ethan but still feared the trap of being his plaything, something for him to pull close and then cast aside. She feared his intimacy and commitment issues, and she doubted either of those would magically disappear because they’d had mind-blowing sex. There was a reason she needed liquid courage to say all that she did. Under his gaze, she was more than vulnerable, she was exposed. She’d given him everything, reserving only three words, and was otherwise at his mercy.

“You were right,” Ethan conceded. He wanted to tell her everything he felt, but a barrier remained and the words refused to leave his mouth. So he kissed her forehead and offered acknowledgement instead, “I was being an asshole.”

Francesca smiled softly, leaning into him as she murmured, “When are you not being an asshole?”

If anyone else had said that he would have been irate, but it wasn’t just anybody, it was Francesca. 

And for her, he laughed.

That morning, she finally got her hands on the embarrassing t-shirt she’d been envisioning since the previous day. Ethan couldn’t understand her fascination with some branded, absurd t-shirt given to him to publicize a race he’d participated in years ago, but he acknowledged the apparent happiness in her eyes when she shimmied into it.

The words had nearly faded away, but Francesca could still make out the orange scribble of “Turkey Trot 10K 2015” as well as a cartoon turkey dancing on the breast pocket. It was soft from years of washes, despite spending ages forgotten in the back of Ethan’s closet. Had he even remembered its existence, he would have donated it years ago, but as he watched her parading around in it now, he was happy he’d almost forgotten about it.

Stifling his smirk, he started to make coffee and watched out of the corner of his eye as Francesca disappeared into his living room. When she returned, Jenner was in her arms, and he arguably looked more enamored than Francesca did.

“So, are you just a fan of ridiculous t-shirts, or do you specifically enjoy cartoon turkeys?” Ethan couldn’t help himself. He had to know why she’d been so eager to sport the holiday shirt, and as he turned back to look at her and wait for his response, he was reminded that, even in something as comical as a “Turkey Trot” t-shirt, she was still so beautiful.

Francesca laughed, rubbing behind Jenner’s ears as she considered the question.

It wasn’t that it was just a ridiculous shirt. It was his ridiculous shirt. It was a part of him that few had ever seen before. It was an element of his life beyond Edenbrook. It helped form the fabric of the man that existed outside of his career. It was so uniquely Ethan and so different from “Dr. Ramsey.” It was another peek at the kaleidoscope of the man she was enamored with.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, laughing softly to herself, “it’s just…”

She almost finished with, “you”. But instead, she played it nonchalantly, “I find them funny.”

Ethan knew there was something behind that casual smile, and he almost pressed her. But then the coffee was finished brewing and he decided to let her hold onto her secret.

The warm, familiar smell of coffee brought a smile to Francesca’s lips as he offered her a mug. They were talking about something unmemorable, but Ethan would never forget the way she laughed when he said something funny. It was true happiness but as their cups drained and the clock continued to tick, it was all slipping from their fingers.

Francesca wanted to hide away in this innocent Eden for the rest of her life. Free of external pressure, they existed in their true forms here. They were two people standing at the beginning of something real and exciting, and they were left alone to their skipped heartbeats and tender touches. They weren’t outcast doctors, they were just people. And as their professional lives went to hell, they’d found a new heaven with each other.

But the morning had started to recede and Francesca had to leave.

Ethan helped look for her jeans, finding them crumbled under the couch. They found her shoes nearby, and in his bedroom, her bra and panties had fallen under his bed. Her shirt that she had washed and discarded the previous morning was still in his guest room, but she continued to wear his t-shirt instead. Ethan had re-charged her cellphone, and she found a series of texts from her friends, wondering where the hell she was after she’d sent them a vague message the day before assuring them that she was fine and staying with a friend for a while. 

She was still scrolling through their group chat when she noticed that Sienna had sent a reminder about their early afternoon roomie brunch, and Francesca’s heart sunk with the realization that her departure from Ethan’s apartment was sooner than expected. She responded that she’d meet them there – knowing she’d have to stop by her apartment first and at the very least, change clothes.

“I’ll walk you home,” Ethan told Francesca as he collected Jenner’s leash, trying to hide the gesture under the guise of taking his dog for a walk. In truth, he just didn’t want to let her go yet.

Francesca raised an eyebrow at his statement because that’s what it was – a statement, not an offer. He was walking her home. Still, she felt the need to test him. 

“You don’t have to,” Francesca smiled, scratching Jenner under his chin as Ethan prepared him for the walk. Curious if he’d take the out she’d just given him.

“I know,” Ethan answered simply as he collected their keys, and with a kiss on the side of Francesca’s head, they were off.

Boston’s energy had lulled into a peaceful Sunday morning. Couples and families milled through the streets, passing them in favor of nearby farmers markets and parks, and a soft breeze carried them through the sunny day. Francesca and Ethan, both being workaholics, lived close to Edenbrook, and therefore each other. It was a pleasant walk that was far too short for either of their liking.

Feeling it all fade away, she gathered her resolve and asked tentatively, “Are you doing anything tonight?” Biting on her inner cheek, Francesca turned her eyes to Ethan. Despite everything, she was still terrified that she’d somehow misinterpreted their closeness and everything that had happened in the last two days. She held her breath as she anticipated another rejection.

“Francesca…” Ethan squeezed her hand, which had somehow found its way to his in their walk, “You should be preparing for your hearing.”

The Ethics Hearing. She closed her eyes against the reminder that her entire future was held in the balance of a rigged hearing, and she was doomed to anticipate it, teetering between naive hope and realistic fears.

Opening her eyes she stared straight ahead, trying to imagine how it would all go, then she muttered, “I don’t know how much I can prepare when Declan has already bought half the panel.” 

“Rookie,” Ethan stopped suddenly, his hand pulling Francesca to him. As much as she tried to avoid his bright blue eyes, he made her look at him, her cheek in his hand as he told her, “You did what you did for the good of a patient. No matter what happens, you’re a good doctor. What did I tell you last night? You owe it to yourself and your patients to give it your all. Fuck Declan.”

Francesca nodded as she absorbed his words, slightly surprised to hear him use the strong language that was so effortless for her, “You’re right.”

“I’m always right,” Ethan’s smile was so infectious that, through her pain and doubt, Francesca laughed.

“Sure,” Francesca rolled her eyes.

“I wrote the textbook you studied,” Ethan bragged, making Francesca laugh even harder as she began to walk again.

“Wow, a genius who still maintains humility. You’re a first in human history,” Francesca mocked him.

“My humility is exceptional,” Ethan played along, knowing he’d do just about anything to make her laugh.

When they reached Francesca’s building, they knew they’d reached the end of the road, but Francesca was still smiling so bright at him. Her confidence in this, whatever it was, growing.

“To clarify, I’m definitely coming over tonight though, right?” she challenged.

He should have told her to stay home and prepare, but who was he to say no?

“Definitely,” Ethan agreed. “I suppose I’ll just have to help you prep.”

Francesca smiled, he was offering support again, without provocation, and for now, it was more than she could ask for. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before parting ways. As she reached the front door to her building, she waved, “Goodbye Ethan.”

He returned the gesture, “Goodbye, Rookie.”

CHAPTER SIX

[j-j-ehlby-writes]

Meet Me at the Chalet || one year later.

Eventual pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Jenessee Borosi)

Word count: ~1.2k

Summary (I suck at these): Jenessee goes on a solo vacation after the release of her first novel. She got a little more than she bargained for when she gets snowed in with her biggest celebrity crush.

Warnings: None

night one. || day one. || day two. || day three. || day four. || day five. || day six. || last day. || one year later. || epilogue. ||

The days dragged on at first. But after my book made it onto the Bestseller’s list, it got a little easier. Countless interviews were requested to find out the true identity of this illusive author, all were declined. Sure, this caused some controversy, calling me “a coward” and “a diva,” but my stance remained the same: I wanted to stay anonymous until all of the books in my series were released.

Yes, series. After the success of the first book, the sequel to one of the two endings I published was highly anticipated. Once I left the chalet last year, I started working on a prequel to the first book. With the sequel recently published, the prequel is now the main focus. The publishers may even want me to completely rewrite the first book but with the character from the prequel instead. It’s still just in talks. They want to see how well the prequel does before thinking about adding that book.

Days were easy, but nights… definitely were not. When I wasn’t writing, my thoughts consisted of only him. I wondered what he was doing or if he was missing me as much as I was missing him or if he had already moved on and forgotten about me. I did manage to stay away from his social media as hard as that was. I did see his last Marvel movie when it came out and have seen his new Loki series. They were both absolutely brilliant. I wouldn’t have expected anything less from him.

My feelings never lessened, only growing for him as my heart yearned for him. It all hurt at first knowing I wouldn’t see him every day, but after a few days, it turned into a dull ache. I tried to distract myself as much as possible with my writing, diving into a world I created to keep my mind from wandering to what he might be doing.

Which is why I am currently in a car, on the way to the chalet. My plane landed an hour ago and I’ve been a ball of nerves since the wheels touched down. As I made the familiar drive into the mountains, I could enjoy it this time. The sun was shining on the snow covered trees and it highlighted the road ahead. My knuckles were white against the black steering wheel. The winding roads through the mountains churned my stomach.

What if he’s not showing up? What if I’m the only one and I make a fool out of myself? What if I’m the only one who has been looking forward to this day? I’ve been counting down the days ever since I left. I always knew I would come back. From the second I made the decision, I knew I would be back. I had only hoped that his mind wouldn’t have changed.

I finally pulled up to the chalet, this time seeing multiple cars parked out front. Entering through the front door, the same feeling of home washed over me as I take in the same modern interior as a huge contrast to the log cabin look on the exterior.

“Miss Borosi! So nice to see you back here!” The owner greeted from the desk. “Are you planning on staying? I can have your room prepared for you.”

“Oh no, that’s okay. I don’t know if I’ll be staying yet, but I will let you know as soon as I do. Thank you.” I made my way into the living room where I planted my butt and waited. I waited for an hour before I asked the owner if I could make something to eat in the kitchen. He said I am more than welcome to it, letting his chef know that I’ll be in there as well.

I tried to stay out of his way while I made two grilled cheese sandwiches, adding bacon and pickles, with a smile on my face. I thought about when we made these for the first time. We had just met that day, but it seemed like we had already known each other for years. I remember the way his eyes lit up when he tried it, vowing never to go back to a plain grilled cheese. I remember how after that he had asked me about my writing and had been genuine about his curiosity; how at that moment I wanted to kiss him so badly, but didn’t because I didn’t know how he would have reacted, only to have him kiss me on the last night… and slowly but surely I fell in love with him… so much so that I am willing to get my heart shattered if he doesn’t show up.

“I see some things never change.”

My shoulders slump and my head drops in reprieve. My chest feels like a huge weight has been lifted, I can hardly believe I can breathe again.

I turn around to see Tom, the man I’m so hopelessly in love with, leaning against the doorway. As badly as I want to launch into his arms, he chose those words for a reason. I had to play along. “What are you doing here?” I ask back.

He shrugs, “I’m in town.” How is it possible for him to look even better than the last time I saw him but also the exact same? His eyes held the same mischief I’ve come to love seeing in his films.

As I took in the rest of him, I felt my throat tighten and my eyes start to sting. After one whole year of wondering if he would show up, after worrying about him possibly moving on and forgetting about me… he’s here.

“Is this real?” I ask, a sob escaping.

“God, I hope so.” He utters.

In a second, we’re in each other’s arms and his lips attach to mine as if no time had passed. He kissed down my jaw to my neck where he buried his face, gripping me tighter to him.

I run my fingers through his hair, basking in the feeling of being with him again. “Tom?”

He withdrew, smiling down at me. “Yes, my love?”

I stare into his baby blues that were looking at me with so much love and happiness, I feel like I could explode. “Thomas William Hiddleston,” he giggles, filling my stomach with butterflies, “I love you.” I finally confess. “For years, I only dreamed of telling you those three words. Having a crush on a man I never thought in a million years would ever give me a second look is so much different than being head over heels in love with the most kind-hearted, funny, polite, charismatic, attractive, caring, sympathetic, unique man I’ve ever met who also happens to be the man of my dreams.”

His lips captured mine again, groaning into my mouth before pulling away. “Darling, I’ve loved you from the second I saw you singing and dancing while cooking in this very kitchen. You captured my heart before I even knew your name.”

I knew from that moment on that we’ll be more than alright. If this separation didn’t weaken- but strengthen how we feel for each other, then we can get through anything life throws at us. We can figure anything out if we have that head over heels, my heart is yours and yours mine, can’t live without you, want to spend the rest of my life by your side, heart-pounding, staggered-breathing, knee-trembling, soul-freeing kind of love that you usually read about in books...

epilogue...

Permanent taglist: @elusive-beauty @drakesfiance @im-a-slut-for-an-accent @fantasy-is-my-reality @hiddlephile @naniky

[realitv]

I cannot keep you and I cannot let you go. + law

A VERY OLD MEME.

  BEAUTY THAT NO HD, 4K 1080P CAMERA CAN CAPTURE: Vistas that belong on the processors and true-colour technology of iMac screens and 48FPS films and even then, it could not be replicated. No truer, deeper blue than the ocean: white sandy beaches and swaying trees; it’s a travel commercial waiting to happen. HERE, WE SPECIALISE IN ROMANTIC GETAWAYS. FOR THE LOW, LOW PRICE OF YOUR ENTIRE SAVINGS ACCOUNT – Here, the world spins on without them. Tries to. Attempts to. It stutters worse than a scratched up record, skips worse than a television set in bad sync. They were not made for seascapes; not made for anything less than the cold cut minimalism that belonged in sky-scraper offices and sterile stations. Painfully out of place in that plush, perfect one hundred percent bamboo cotton robe that had been laid out on the bed linens when they’d both arrived; the air here was fresh. Clean. Breezing in gently though not a strand of over-processed hair could think of escaping – Yes, the world kept trying to move on. 

  Radio silence across all fronts. Ticked in to days, weeks – approximately five months and twenty two days ago, you pressed a ticket to to Tahiti into my hands and told me: FIVE MINUTES, DOLL-FACE. Approximately five months and twenty two days ago, I’d licked my wounds and said ‘FUCK IT.’ Brows furrow; the lean against the plexi-glass rail of their shared suite and their entire body seems to sigh. Suddenly, they’re old; suddenly, they’re grey; suddenly the colours are leeching out of them and they’re so, so tired, all-seeing eyes fluttering shut and within that darkness, they reach. Hands passing through cathode rays and satellite signals to fiddle with switches and dials. Somewhere, a station lights up: ‘ON AIR’. The noise is deafening; hits them all at once and they feel themselves buckle. Sight, sound; The World is so very wide, so very vast; infinite. The World wants, The World speaks: MEDIA. MEDIA. MEDIA. MEDIA. I KNOW YOU’RE THERE. I CAN SEE YOU. MEDIA, YOU CANNOT HIDE FROM ME. Microphone feedback catching them; a horrific screech, a burst of static – SILENCE. Hands pressed to their ears and the lingering noise of satellite interference. We’re sorry, the God you are attempting to broadcast has taken an indefinite hiatus. Please try another station, thank you.   It’s a command they’ve never been able to resist. Approximately five months and twenty two days in international waters and their grip had only gotten harsher. GIVE IT TIME ( AND ATTENTION ); they’d move without thought, without trying to. Brought back to heel like a good pet – is this what is to become of me? VIEWERS, IS THIS WHAT IS TO BECOME OF ME?! I RAN, DO WE AGREE THAT I AM A COWARD? IF I GO BACK, WHAT PUNISHMENT WILL I RECEIVE, OR WILL I FIND THE LEASH EVER TIGHTER? CAST YOUR VOTES NOW AT 1-800-I-AM-AFRAID. A flurry of light and sound passing through them and it is beyond their reach, their control – it is all too much and too quick, too loud; they could drown in it. Suffocate in it. Choke on the air they no longer needed and suddenly, suddenly! Him.   A pleasant warmth behind them; arms wrapping around their HD frame to bestow an illusory sensation of life to Teflon and silicone skin. Him, resilient; him, eternal. Him with his greying hairs and his blood and his sinew. Him with his strong hands that had always been gentle. Him, eternal; the most beautiful creature they’ve ever laid eyes upon. Recorded. Stored. Rendered eternal in marble and oil paints, made TIMELESS. He brings SILENCE, he brings them peace: a rest from all that background noise, the never-ending stream of information they’d built and created. Melt into him; so sure that were they any closer, they would become one; nestled within his chest as surely as he had left a mark on their mainframe, rearranged wires and brought forth restored and digitised memories they’d locked away in their studio archives. Cameras panning up to rest upon him; count every smile line, recount the perfect curve of his jaw. TELL THE VIEWERS, DARLING: ARE YOU ART, OR ARE YOU A MASTERPIECE? Bleach-blonde head leaning back to rest in the curve where neck meets shoulder, breathed him in and found him real, found him tender. Somewhere, another studio gets bought out; SIGN ON THE DOTTED LINE! Somewhere, everywhere; the signals cross and fizzle out. Approximately five months and twenty two days have been spent tangled up in sheets with him; waking up with his taste in your mouth and his cologne on your skin. A smile curving lazily upon their red, red mouth. Your attention please, we are no longer recording and you are able to speak; we invite you to.  “There you are.” Half sigh, half murmur; static crackling against their words and they reach up, searching, pressing; cold fingertips gliding along his jaw, the curve of his cheek, his temple; fingers knitting into his hair and they smooth it back, strain to press a kiss to the edge of his lips, allow his warmth to seep through that red mouth and bring back a semblance of life into them. The sensation of stubble against skin; his arms tightening around them ever so slightly; brings a mechanical sigh out of that terrible mouth. Viewers, every time I part from him the distance cuts into me. I think that one day, it will kill me. “There you are.” Repeated; fingers twisting into his curls and their mind is far removed from this pocket paradise they’d created; eyes on him though they no longer drink him in. His lips skirting their harsh edges; the line of their neck, their shoulder. HOW LONG UNTIL I AM FORCED TO GO BACK ON AIR?   I’ve been thinking. Hangs unsaid in the air between them; the sensation of writers rehashing screenplays, feeding new lines to the teleprompter. I NEED TO LEAVE. No. I HAVE TO GO. No. THE WORLD IS CALLING ME. No, no. MISTER WORLD WANTS ME. Why would I ever say that to him, viewers? I thought we’d made a promise never to lie to each other. Mouthpiece parted against his neck; breathed him in. Blood and steel, salt and seawater. Oh, viewers. I will miss him most of all. “It is time for me to go.” Whispered; free from boom mics and recording feedback, lost to all ears but his. “I cannot stay forever. We both knew that.” SUSPEND YOUR DISBELIEF FOR JUST A MOMENT, PLEASE. “But we pretended anyways.” America will not be America without you; America was not America without me. “I cannot keep ignoring that I left behind.” THERE ARE TO BE NO UNFINISHED CONTRACTS. Failure to comply will result in permanent termination. What a funny role-reversal upon the stage: him, always leaving. Them, left behind: Forgive me. Oh, forgive me. Cameras focused on that impassive face and the sync skips; their image flickering and somewhere, a string quartet begins to play. They hit the mute button; bring themselves back down to reality. Back to him.   The Law is stiff against them, unyielding where there once was a sure sort of softness; the practised grip of someone who knew every curve, every indent, every limb; and even after years of embracing the same body, still found surprise within them. Still found delight. “I am needed where I am needed.” Trying desperately to sound monotone, to sound flat; that all-mighty voice box seizing, cracking; stuttering; catching on a script they had yet to memorise. DARLING, CAN YOU TASTE THE REGRET? “And I am wanted here. But you do not need me.” Can’t turn to look at him, can’t focus those cameras upon him. A COWARD SHOULD NEVER BE LEFT IN A ROOM WITH SOMEONE WHO HAS A HEART. Free hand encircling his wrist, pressing him into their rib cage, and if they could, they’d vanish into him. Create his sinews and cells, his blood and his mind – No longer. Viewers, I wish I could tell him how much I want to stay.  “Hold me tighter. Hold me closer. Please.” Let me remember this: you, me, and that deep blue sea. “Let me take your warmth with me when I go. Let me keep this for myself. Please.” Eyes fluttering shut; a blissful darkness pressing in. VIEWERS, I DID NOT KNOW MANY THINGS. I DID NOT KNOW MY NAME, I DID NOT KNOW MY PURPOSE. BUT I KNEW I WAS HIS.

[commodorecliche]

So I've got some thoughts about Shiro in this new season. I'm just speculating right now since I haven't had a chance to properly sit down and watch it. But a lot of parts I have seen so far are making me go

at this Shiro and some of the things he’s saying.

I know a lot of you are rolling with the idea that this is a clone of Shiro, and I think you're probably right. Especially since we have already seen the Galra making a clone of Shiro, it seems quite likely that this is the case. Odd that they would show them doing that if it wasn’t going to be relevant to the plot later. Again, I'm just speculating and spit-balling here so take this as you will - but I think that the Galra are using Clone!Shiro to manipulate Keith so that they can steal the black lion from him.

Here's what i've noticed so far:

1) Lion/Paladin colors have not changed. Meaning that despite Keith piloting black and Lance piloting red, their respective color palettes have not changed. It's a striking image, it stands out, it's noticeable. If this were meant to be a permanent change, one might think the armor color would at least change, but it hasn't. Nor have their clothes (I know the clothes thing might seem nitpicky, but I'm getting to a point in #2).

2) When it comes to clothing changes (excluding Allura in her pink armor because she wasn't previously a paladin so isn't relevant to the point I'm making), SHIRO is the only one whose clothes have changed. This is actually a very common clone trope in science fiction media. Clones are often portrayed as "identical with a minor difference" as a way of distinguishing them from the original person (usually for the sake of a show-down or mirrored parallels - think of the MirrorVerse episode of Star Trek, in which the mirror versions of Spock and Kirk are distinguished by slightly different clothing and beards). This slight difference in Shiro's appearance (especially the cut sleeve - and don’t even get me started about the random moment where he’s missing his scar) could be a way of distinguishing them from each other for future scenes (and possibly for a showdown)

3) As @pilindiel pointed out, there were no Galra guards watching longhair!Shiro until he got up, and they let him escape. If they were in the process of making clone(s) of Shiro, why on earth would they not keep the REAL Shiro under tight supervision, why on earth would they simply let him escape? We've already seen shots of the Galra creating a clone of Shiro, so we know it's something they're doing, and longhair!Shiro is shown having flashbacks of someone calling him by a number. Homeboy is a clone, possibly even one of many clones. Or maybe he’s been brainwashed, but I'm thinking clone is more likely. If he is a clone, though, he likely still has all of Shiro's memories, and thus was probably still 'brainwashed' or trained in one way or another to get him to act how the Galra want him to behave (more on that later).

- Ninja edit: I’m betting too that if he’s a clone, he might not even know it. 

4) Keith is part Galra. And the Galra have been aware of this for some time now: in fact, it was Zarkon himself who first addressed it ("you fight like a Galra soldier"). I think they are hoping to somehow exploit his Galra heritage as a way to either control him or at least persuade him into delivering the black lion. The show made a BIG DAMN DEAL about Shiro bonding with Black and about how Shiro had too much willpower/control of Black for Zarkon to take it from him (astral plane). But Keith? Keith's bond with Black hasn't been shown to be as strong. It's new, and it's likely weaker right now - I mean, we’ve mostly seen her accept him because of his bond with Shiro (saving Shiro from the lizardboars, Shiro's belief in Keith as a leader, etc...) His somewhat weaker grip on the black lion, in tandem with his Galra heritage, could make him easier to exploit for the sake of the Galra reclaiming the black lion.

- for those of you who are wondering why the Galra wouldn't just have the Clone!Shiro resume control of Black and deliver it to them: it’s possible that the black lion wouldn't accept the clone. I mean, sure, Clone!Shiro probably has Shiro's memories, his mannerisms, etc... which is why Black reacted to his escape ship... but at the end of the day, he isn't Shiro. Like I said before, the show made a big damn deal about Shiro's bond with Black. It was a major plot point - it would be a waste of time, and a bit of bad writing, to harp on that bond so much, only to then turn it around and go "welp, Keith's the permanent black pilot now" or to say "oh yeah totally this Clone!Shiro could take over the lion, no problemo". The Galra likely NEED Keith (his Galra heritage, his bond with Shiro, etc...) to be the one piloting Black because Black probably wouldn't accept the phony Shiro. Edit: Black doesn’t respond to Shiro when he tries to pilot her. *SIRENS GOING OFF* 

5) Keith is still reluctant to be the black paladin, especially with Shiro back in the picture, which might run contrary to what the Galra are trying to accomplish. If the Galra need him in the position of black paladin in order to exploit his connection to it and his Galra heritage, then who better to convince him to stay in that position than Shiro? Now, with all that time spent showing Shiro's bond with Black, it seems odd to push the idea that suddenly Keith is the true black paladin: UNLESS the Galra need him to be (as I mentioned in #4). The Real Shiro has, in the past, expressed that he wants Keith to lead in his absence, so Clone!Shiro insisting that he remain as the black paladin isn't super out of character and wouldn't necessarily raise any alarms amongst the team. With Keith reluctant to do so, and reluctant about his position as leader and as pilot of the black lion, what better way to convince him than to present him with the only person who was ever truly there for him and believed in him? What better way to get Keith to do what they (the Galra) want him to do than to have the person he trusts most, the only person who's "never given up on him", tell him to do it? To quote @pilindiel "How else do you dismantle a leader than by being what that leader cherishes most?".

So yeah, this could be way off base, but this is the vibe I'm getting so far. Shiro is a clone and the Galra are using him to manipulate Keith to get him to stay as pilot of the black lion so they can reclaim it.

[naeriels]

Question Challenge

Rules: 1. Post the rules 2. Answer the questions given to you by the tagger 3. Write 11 questions of your own 4. And tag 11 people

@nodaski​ tagged me

1) What would you are this worlds’ biggest problems?

I think that if we were to catalogue even just the biggest the problems of the world, we would be standing here years from now. I think perhaps one of the biggest problems we face nowadays if forgetfulness. We are so eager to expand, evolve, reach out, change and distort ourselves all in the name of the future that we wipe away all the faults of the past, we forget all that had come to pass and as such we are doomed to repeat the same mistakes over and over again. We turn a blind eye to everything that had spiraled out of control, to all of humanity’s mistakes, to the blood drenched past that led us to this future and we draw none of the conclusions that we should have drawn till now. We are caught in an ever lasting vicious cycle of “it happened, it’s in the past, no point thinking back on it” that we are forever drawn to the same spot, albeit in different manners and various circumstances. So in a way, the world instead of evolving, in many cases stagnates or even makes ten steps back to one step forth.

2) Why do you think humans are flawed, or that intrinsically irremediable?

I think that there is no such thing as perfection, no matter how much we might strive to achieve it. And as such, yes our baseline is flawed from birth till death and there is no denying that. However, just because we are flawed does not mean we cannot strive to be better or that we need to simply surrender to the belief that no matter what we do, our design was imperfect from the beginning an that’s how we will remain without trying to aim for more.

3) If you could wipe away the sorrows of your past, your biggest regrets and worst sufferings even if they had shaped you on who you are today would you spare yourself from experiencing those things? Why so?

Hahaha ooooh boooi good question. And one I’ve been asking myself a lot. It would be tempting to erase everything and spare my past self from everything that happened. But at the same time, if I did that, whatever would remain by the end wouldn’t be me. It would be a stranger with my face and a life I wouldn’t recognize. And since I’ve always hated other people trying to change me, I won’t be the one to effectively deconstruct myself and turn me into something else. So the answer is no, I wouldn’t.

4) What is your stance on mental health and the perpetual suffering that comes from living in a capitalistic system that prioritises work and creating workers over personal aspirations?

My stance is that I hate the system and would love nothing more than to gleefully tear it down, burn it and salt its ashes. We live in a society that demands, demands, demands without offering nothing back, that puts mounting pressure on our shoulders from the very moment we enter school, that delights in belittling us and crushing our dreams, telling us how very pointless they are and that we will never amount to anything if we pursue them. We live in a society that tries to turn us into robots and is surprised when we snap, that offers us the bare bones for survival and chides us for our frustration and overall lack of hope, that takes away all that makes us who we are and rages against us when we rebel against it. It is a system designed to breed fools and mindless drones that ruins all those who wish to fight against it in whatever small ways possible. And I for one would love nothing more than to see it changed for something that actually encourages personal growth and aspirations, that encourages people to follow their dreams and offers them the means to do so, instead of kicking them in the ground. But I’m not holding my breath that anything will change...

5) Do you think there is a perpetual loss in our time of interest and growth in arts (literature, picture, music), and how do you think it influences us as humans if so?

Yes. There is a statistically proven decrease in readership and interest towards the literary arts and I think the same fact proves right for all arts including painting, music or theater. Part of it stems, I believe, from the lack of interest offered by governments and authorities to this area and quite another for the way society is shaped. We are forced - by school, by university, by work through the hectic and burdening schedules hoisted upon us - to dedicate more and more of our time to work as a whole and less to leisure time. Moreover, those inclined towards artistic pursuits are discouraged from a young age, being told such a road is impossible, will lead to nowhere and will offer them no chance to amount to something in life. As such, the Arts become shunned from both the developer and the consumer point of view. The result is that we steadily become a robotic society, one incapable of sharing the pleasure of creative pursuits with our peers, one focused so much on what must be done to ensure a livelihood that it forgets to actually live for a moment or two. Humans will slowly become less creative, less imaginative, less likely to reach out to the stars, and more gripped by everyday reality. And those that will think otherwise will simply be mocked or ignored.

6) How would you define happiness?

This is going to sound cheesy as heck but to me happiness is a cabin on the banks of a lake, in perfect silence and solitude. It’s a steady Wi-Fi connection and a roaring fire in the fireplace, a word document open with words filling up the pages and cats milling around the house in joy. It’s acceptance and approval offered without falter, it’s the chance of doing something I love as opposed to something I have to do to be able to live a decent life. It’s being able to research topics I love and writing about them. It’s teaching others and helping them unearth new knowledge. It’s all the pieces of myself buried under what must be done and what the world demands, brought together at last without fear of doing so.

7) Why do you write and continue to do so?

Because it is escapism and a way to escape the monotonous reality of everyday. Because it allows me to dream and create, to give birth to new worlds, to embark on adventures with characters I love and discover all the facets of their personality. Because it is the first thing I ever claimed for myself, my first passion, my first love and something I do not think I could survive without. Because I strive to be better and better, to reach the experience and abilities of the authors I admire. Because I do not care whether I will be remembered or not, but I wish to see my world withstand the passage of time. Because writing shapes me and defines me and I do not know who I would be without it.

8) How it feels to dream, and when do you think a person reaches the point they are no longer to do so and lose all purpose of their life?

I think dreaming might very well be a folly, a burst of optimism that will make most of us crash and burn at one point in our lives. Achieving one’s dreams is hard, a rare occurrence that makes the majority that has no chance to do so hope ever harder and suffer even more when their dreams are destroyed. I think it depends on the person, though; many manage to cling to their dreams and their hopes for a large portion of their life, relentlessly believing that no matter how old they might get, the chance is still there for them to seize. And others give up on their dreams in the very beginning, disheartened by every dashed attempt and every failed opportunity. I think the moment we lose all hope - in the world, in ourselves, in whoever is supporting us - is the moment when even that remote dream that we might have held onto gets blasted into oblivion and we lose whatever anchor was tethering us till then.

9) Do you live your life with a purpose/Do you need a purpose in life to live?

I don’t really have a purpose in life, so I guess I don’t really need one? I just move from one day to another in a state of vague uncertainty and confusion, hoping to maybe discover at one point exactly where I wish to go from here onward.

10) Does the idea of death or permanent disappearance scare you? If not, have you ever thought of disappearing?

Ironically enough, the answer is yes to both questions.

11) What is love for you?

That’s kind of complicated because I don’t really know the answer. I used to think I did. I guess love would be companionship, acceptance, support and being able to trust the other person without fear of betrayal.

And for my questions... ummmm...

1. If you would be able to save only one book, knowing all the others would disappear forever from history and recollection, what book would that be and why?

2. Do you believe in the existence of a higher being whatever its name might be or do you think there is no divine intervention in our world?

3. Do you believe humanity has learned from the mistakes of the past, or is it merely repeating the same patterns in different ways?

4. If you would be able to ask your future self one question, what would that question be and why?

5. Has there been a book, series, movie or other media that changed your life for the better?

6. What do you think offers capacity for growth and development: original fiction or fanfiction?

7. If you could change one thing in a fictional universe of your choice, what would that thing be?

8. Does the capacity for evil exists in all of us from birth, or is it merely a concept slowly bred by the world we live in?

9. If you could choose any superpower knowing that in turn it would lead to disaster of sorts occurring in the far future, what would you do?

10. Do you read works of fiction based on your mood or are those works the ones that influence the way you feel in that moment?

11. If you could save one monument from history that has been completely obliterated, what would that monument be?

Tagging: @arcane-wanderer​, @nenuials​, @tasmaniandevil-4​, @deyanirasan​, @berryblissthefangirl​, @takasuga​ ( only if you guys want to to this ofc )

[advxjennie-blog]

the games we play: solo!

Months.

Of reconnaissance. Of dressing up and dressing down to fit the backdrop of her gamers’ lives. Of rewiring personalities to become someone she’s not, but to fit the ideals of someone she longs to kill. Of smiling till her cheeks hurt, even though the bitter taste of contempt is present on her tongue. Of being stoic and hiding the effervescent joy that her late father so loves her for. Of being touched even when it’s the last thing she wants. Of pretending it’s the very thing she wants. Of having to bite her tongue and endure the odd looks like she’s not affected by it in the slightest—because such is her in-your-face behaviour, so she must be comfortable with the judgement that comes with it, right? Of being screamed at due to her persistence. Of running back to the drawing board as she blocks out all emotion of sadness and disappointment, because all she has endured may very well have been for nothing. Of never giving up regardless.

Weeks.

Of sleepless nights and blocking the release of melatonin—the hormone responsible for tiredness—released by the pineal gland. Of cans upon cans of energy drinks and an uncountable number of coffee cups of different shapes and sizes. Of cracking codes. Of breaking through the defences of anything from military databases and police files, to social media accounts. Of having to read through every painful conversation and looking at the occasional scandalous pictures, in hopes of finding that one piece of information she can use to end this suffering and move on to the next. Of having those pieces of information escape her. Of having her days and nights blur into a single moment: her, sitting at her cluttered desk as she forces the sleep out of her eyes and blink away the tears caused by the bright laptop screen. Of having to start again.

Days.

Of planning. Of dissecting the mysteries that are her gamers’ personalities. Of trying to figure out the boundaries of their comfort zone, and trying to figure out how to push them past it. Of guessing what they’re willing to do and what they’re not, and of how suspicious they are. Of tailoring tasks that are unique to their skill set, courage and respect for the justice system. Of having to piece everything together perfectly, because she is about to tangle her gamers’ lives together intricately, and if one rope happens to be faulty, the whole system collapses. Of finally avenging her father. Of finally taking revenge on her mother.

It all ends here.

Here is a boy with adventure written into his genetic code. There is an insatiable lust erupting within him that longs for adrenaline to pour under his flesh, an unexplainable need for the spark of life to run through his veins. If there is ever a man who would choose to live out of suitcases and in the snug economy seats of a budget airline in place of living in an extravagant mansion and lying on silk sheets and beds that are unnecessarily large, it would be Kiwoon. But the thing about him is neither the former nor the latter is an option: because on days when he is not off chasing the stars, he is scrubbing floors and washing dishes in a local diner.

He is the embodiment of peaks and troughs living a life of flat-line, and God, all he longs for is to escape.

And so he fills his idle moments with activities that trigger the release of adrenaline. It starts oh, so very vanilla: walking up to a pretty girl to ask for her number, or joining the local dance competition. But very gradually, it turns much, much darker: grabbing anything he can from the local mart and hiding the items under his jacket, jacking a parked car to test its control and acceleration and attempting to put it back with none the wiser. It is as though he starts to get used to the activities that once charged his bones with electricity, starts to see them as simply another part of his monotonous life, and so he begins to look for more dangerous, adrenaline-triggering things to do, and oh, how slippery he finds the slope. His heart sings when he partakes in activities that are decidedly bad, and although his mind is plagued by guilt and regret, it does little to stop his fingers from shaking as they itch to feel the smooth texture of a leader-covered steering wheel of a car his bank account most certainly cannot afford.

/

His reckoning comes in the form of a series of joyful pings from his phone while he’s busy at work, and he quickly steals a glance at the texts—surely his boss wouldn’t mind this much—but what he sees sends his phone falling to the ground due to a loosened grip and the forces of gravity. Because in it are video footages from hidden security cameras of him stealing from the local mart, as well as him breaking into a moderately priced car. It seems odd for the guards watching the security footage to have missed all of this, but perhaps it is because they had been oddly deleted, as though someone wishes to save him from the police only to exercise justice in their own, special way.

[private number] I wonder what mommy and daddy would think if their baby boy went to jail?

[private number] Maybe you shouldn’t have been so chatty with the regulars at the diner.

[private number] Wait for my instruction! xoxo

His eyes dart to the many customers in the diner as though afraid someone had caught him, and if he’s noted the ‘regulars’ comment, he doesn’t bother wondering which as he has bigger problems to deal with. He’s quick to pick up his phone, drop it into his pocket and pretend like he is not phased, but the sweat that breaks out on his forehead and the permanent wrinkle between his eyebrows betray his countenance.

/

He is awaken by the next text that comes in the middle of the night.

[private number] Knock, knock! You ready, Woonie?

[private number] Let’s go on a ride! Get dressed and be at the nearest convenience store in twenty minutes.

[private number] Might be smart for you to wear all black today. A hoodie would be good! Also maybe one of those surgical masks you use as fashion statements.

Perhaps he is angered from being rudely awaken, or perhaps he is just angered by the blackmail in general, because he is quick to slam a reply that consists mostly of cursing and threats. But he doesn’t get a reply back, and because he is truly, truly afraid of going to jail—or of having to force his parents to pay a fine when they’re already struggling as is—he decides to do as the texts say.

When he gets there, the first thing he does is scan the store for his perpetrator. Unfortunately, all he sees are two cops chatting over an early breakfast of cup ramen. Kiwoon pretends to be busy deliberating over candy bars when really, he just longs for his phone to ring so he can get this nightmare over and done with. And then, he’ll never steal again; this is enough adrenaline to last him a damn lifetime.

The phrase ‘speak of the devil and he doth appear’ proves itself to be true when his phone rings just as he had wanted it to before, but now that his wish has bled into reality, he finds that it is not as satisfying as he had imagined it to be. Still, he fumbles with his phone before reading the texts.

[private number] You’re early… I’m really impressed!

[private number] Anyway, you still know how to jack a car, yeah?

[private number] Show me. Black hummer parked on the far right. It’s the only car in the parking lot.

[private number] Sorry I didn’t tell you to bring your equipment. I forgot. Maybe. :P

[private number] But the good news is there are a lot of rocks! You can break the window.

When the police are this close? The person must not be aware of the situation. He texts his concerns, but he gets a simple ‘:/’ emoticon in return. What the hell could that possibly mean? After five minutes of waiting for another text, he decides to leave the store and check the car out, just in case.

The car is a beauty, there is no denying it. As his eyes land on the silver of light made by the reflection of the sleek, gloss finish, Kiwoon’s hands begin to tremble. Fingers reach out to caress the side mirror in adoration, and he belatedly pulls himself back and reaches for his phone in hopes of finding a new series of text messages that he may have missed in his haze. What he gets instead makes his heart sing, but his teeth grit in frustration.

[private number] Pick a rock for your favourite girl. I happen to like the big, sparkly ones, just FYI.

So it’s a girl; he guessed as much from her use of x’s and o’s. His mind spins as he thinks of what he could possibly do with this information, but agitation grows when he finds that he can do absolutely nothing, and so a succession of slamming the side of his fist against his forehead in frustration follows. But Kiwoon has no time to think: the cops are in the store, and they could be done with their ramen and chatter at any moment. And so he grabs a rock the size of his palm and slams it repeatedly against the window. The window shatters shortly after the alarm blares, and Kiwoon hops into the driver’s seat and reaches for the wires hidden beneath the plastic cover of the steering column. The addictive hum of the engine starting causes a wild, euphoric smile to pull on his lips, but the mood is ruined by shouts that he later realises are coming from the two cops whom have since left the store, and so Kiwoon steps on the gas and escapes with the car.

He’s driving on some small road, a large smile plastered on his lips in response to the rapid beating of his heart against chest that he is so desperately addicted to, and he is so taken with joy that the ringing of his phone does not dampen his mood. He parks on the side of the road and unlocks his phone hastily.

[private number] That was impressive! You’re so cool!

[private number] Drive the car to the address attached and leave it near the front door.

[private number] Leave the door unlocked and the engine running.

[private number] No time for sleep, sorry. :( You have a big day ahead of you!

His heart falls at the text. He’s done everything she’s asked for; is it too much to ask for her to let him go now? He types up a series of texts conveying his anger and brokenness, but he is greeted only with silence. Dejected, Kiwoon slowly drives the car towards the given destination. He’ll deal with everything else later.

There was once a girl with galaxies in her eyes. Her soft kisses could turn beast into man, her innocent heart making a sinner fall to his knees in awe and repentance. And perhaps her alluring nature has sparked the jealousy of the snakes she calls her friends, because they bare fangs that are sheathed with layers upon layers of lethal venom, and they poise to strike. It starts small: in place of Yeonjoo, they call her ‘piggy’, their thin fingers pulling back the tips of their noses as they snort in mockery. And it escalates: they catch her off guard by pinching her belly, they point and laugh, they push her down until her knees are scraped and her tears fall to the ground. It all hurts the same.

They tell her that she is ugly, and that no one is capable of loving her, and she starts to believe it; but what she doesn’t realise is that if she’d only see her true worth, she’d see that there are fairy-tales written of her, and in those stories, her love is the treasure below the x, the ethereal princess guarded by a menacing fire-breathing dragon, and still, it would not deter the many who would fight for and gladly die for her affection. But as she stares at her reflection, all she sees are their shallow words that, beneath the veil, lies jealousy in its rawest form. As she stares bitterly at the girl she so loathes in the mirror, she finds that she becomes her worst critic, and she morphs into the very girls who crush her spirit—the very villains of her fairy-tales.

In the vacuum of space, a star burns out.

/

Here is a girl with heavenly lips and an angelic face; but do not be deceived by her cherubic appearance, for she snarls and snaps at anyone who dares approach her. She is venomous tongue and biting words, and she has black holes for eyes that whisper a tale of once having brilliant stars beneath her flesh, stars that have since died and in its place, lies a petrifying vacuum that swallows men whole and leaves only their shell behind. Through secretive surgeries, Yeonjoo has now attained the shell she has always wanted, but she has lost the person she had desired to be in the process.

She blames her success—or perhaps, is it her downfall? The lines are awfully blurred—on fat camp, and she spits on all the girls who once laughed at the numbers that show up on the scale she steps on. Oh, look at her now, as her sharp heels leaves holes in the hearts of men and women alike. But she has never truly escaped the villains of her story, has she? For still, she keeps them in her presence, and still, she secretly and oh, so desperately longs for their approval. (As she looks in the mirror, the person that looks back is not her, but them.)

And that is the cause for the rapid tattoo on her chest, the gasping for breath and the way her arms reach out for something to hold as she attempts to steady herself. Because there, in her phone, lies the evidence that her rapid weight loss had been the work of doctors rather than trainers—information she was promised would never see the light of day—and there, in her inbox, lies a series of messages:

[private number] Would be such a shame if this got out and your posse hears about it, no?

[private number] This is what you get for playing nice with your stupid ex-neighbour, Kim Jinyoung.

[private number] Wait for my instruction! xoxo

And like a wilted flower, Yeonjoo falls to the ground in heaving sobs.

/

[private number] Morning, Yeonnie! Are you ready?

[private number] There’s a black hummer waiting for you outside. The door is unlocked and the engine is running.

[private number] Drive it to the next street and park in the third bay of the closest gas station.

[private number] You’ll be picking up a passenger. He’ll come to you, so all you have to do is wait!

With shaky fingers and trembling knees, Yeonjoo drags her weight to the car parked in front of her house, the low hum of the engine confirming that the text messages, unfortunately, hold no lie. The way in which she hurriedly runs towards the driver’s seat shows her desperate want to quickly get this over and done with, but the broken window that she’s first greeted with momentarily slows her pace. Slim fingers comb through her hair in disbelief as her vision begins to cloud from the tears that surface, but Yeonjoo bites her lip and pulls her hoodie further towards the front, determined to just hurry up so she can wash her hands of all this mess. She quickly slips into the driver’s seat of the car, and the other thing that catches her attention is a black, square object with a blinking red light stuck to the dashboard. If she had any suspicions that it was anything other than a camera, the confusion is quickly cleared by the loud ping of her phone.

[private number] Stop looking so glum! Smile for the camera, won’t ya? :D

An unfitting scowl graces her cherry lips, and her thumbs slam against the screen as she conjures up a reply, but as she catches sight of all her previous inquiries and pleads to leave her alone from the night before—all of which have been left unanswered—she decides that it would be wise for her to save her breath and just drive. Besides, all she has to do is pick up a passenger, yes? It shouldn’t be too hard, she reasons.

(But oh, is she in for a surprise.)

Jaesuk is a snake. There are no other words to describe him.

Perhaps there is a mistake in his genetic code, because disloyalty seems to be etched deep in his bones, and for the life of him, he cannot think about anything other than his own benefit. But he has a small mind, so he does not have the capacity to think so far into the future, and that is how he ends up angering many, many trigger happy individuals who act as though they have been given the license to kill.

Unfortunately, their weapons are all aimed at the same spot between his eyes.

But regardless of being dense, like a snake, Jaesuk’s key trait must be that he’s slippery, because he seems to be able to evade their shots and hide in places that no one would ever find him. He slithers into holes and hides between bushes, and when he thinks it is safe, he comes out yet again and hunts for his next prey.

Perhaps in an alternate universe, Jaesuk could change. Perhaps he could build friendships and strike alliances if he were only tamed into submission; but as of yet, he is like a child that has been spared the rod, and so now he is spoilt rotten. What use is it to change the only way he knows how to live, when he proves, time and again, that it is the best lifestyle for him to have?

(As said, Jaesuk is hardly the most intellectual, because as he foolishly tempts fate with rhetorical questions, he’ll find that fate always has unlikely answers.)

/

Like clockwork, at eight o’clock on a Tuesday night, Jaesuk stands in front of the window of an electronic shop with a cold drink in his hand, eagerly waiting for his favourite program to air on the many different televisions in front of him. What greets him instead is a nightmare in the form of a series of footages all staring a very familiar reptile.

There he is, slipping into his favourite hidey hole that he visits thrice a month. And there he is, slithering through the crowd and into the darkest alley of Incheon, so dark that no one—not even criminals—dares to enter. (Jaesuk had spread enough rumours of that place to keep everyone out, but it seems that his efforts are all for naught, for there it is on the screen for all of South Korea to see.) And there he is, walking towards his favourite struggling restaurant that only ever holds three customers at once. And there he is, there he is, there he is, at all his favourite hideouts that he had been so sure no one knew about.

The shrill tone emitted from his phone scares him half to death, and during that brief distraction, the screen cuts back to his favourite program, and his eyes meet with his favourite actress as she cries about a love lost. Tears build up in his eyes as well, but for entirely different reasons.

[private number] Did anyone tell you you sucked at hide and seek? Because you really do.

[private number] Relax! It wasn’t on national TV. Just on those TVs. You’re welcome!

[private number] It will be aired nationwide, though. Be sure to catch it at 8pm on Tuesday! Sorry for ruining your favourite broadcast again, oops.

[private number] You can get out of it, though. Just turn up to the Citibank across the street next Tuesday at 10am. Bring your gun and a hat. Maybe some sunglasses. Oh, also a duffel bag might be handy.

[private number] …yup. That’s exactly what it sounds like, Sukkie. :(

[private number] Probably should’ve kept your hands to yourself, and definitely off that old hag, Kim Jinyoung.

[private number] Wait for my instruction! xoxo

Jinyoung? Who the fuck is that? From the message, Jaesuk suspects it’s one of his one night stands, and if he ever sees that woman again, he’d kill her. But God, he has absolutely no idea what she looks like, for the women he shares his nights with have all blended together to make an unidentifiable face.

But whatever; none of that matters, because he’s not going to do it. To think that someone could threaten him—him, the person who has more lives than a damn feline—is laughable. So his old spots have been revealed: bad luck, but that simply means he’ll have to find new hideouts. Jaesuk texts a simple ‘fuck you’, throws both his drink and phone into the bin closest to him and leaves before his favourite broadcast is over. He’s lost the mood and besides, it seems he needs the time to look for a new spot to sleep tonight.

/

He’s lying on an old, springy mattress in the middle of some abandoned building when the bullet hits his shoulder. Screams of agony echoes through the room, but Jaesuk knows that if he were to cave to his want to lie down and baby himself, he’ll die. And so he bites his lip and roars as he pulls himself up and runs to take cover, his hand wet as he rests it on top of the wound in a lousy attempt to slow the bleeding.

A fucking sniper; and he already has a good idea of who the bullet belongs to. Why, it had been twenty years ago when he made nice with Jeongah, a girl with a penchant for falling in love: first with weapons, and then with him. But what she does not understand is Jaesuk does not make connections, he makes scapegoats; and so he had charmed her into taking a leap of faith with him, but as she jumped, she had belatedly noticed that his own feet did not leave the ground.

He left with the money, and she was left with the blame.

But now she’s back with a vengeance it seems, because there is a bullet lodged in his bone.

(And how does he know it’s her?)

It’s simple, really. Jaesuk had been drawn to her all those years ago because of it. The thing is, Jeongah is the type of girl who loves a challenge, and so she had always found sniping at a stationary target boring and frankly, thoroughly unfair for her victim. This is the reason why her first shot is always non-fatal, despite being known to never miss: it’s purely because the first shot gets them running and then, that’s when the game really starts. Well that, and because she’s the only sniper with a reasonable excuse to want him dead.

Jaesuk knows it is imperative that he leaves before she takes her second shot, because if she does, it’ll be his head. He knows in his heart that there is a small chance of survival, but still, he grips his shoulder a little tighter as he prepares to make a run for it. But just as he’s about to stand, his new phone blares.

Really?

Still, he is safe where he sits now, and he knows the second he moves will most definitely be his last. So he stalls and prays for a miracle, and then he pulls his phone out and quickly scans over the text messages.

[private number] I really have to hold you at gunpoint, huh?

[private number] Jeongah really wanted to kill you, but I’m holding something juicy over her head.

[private number] Did you know she had a son!? :o

[private number] Anyway! Tuesday, 10am. Yes or no?

Yes. Yes. Fucking yes. Blood is smeared onto the screen as he hastily types in the reply. He receives a response instantly.

[private number] Great! That wasn’t so hard, was it?

[private number] I’ve put her leash back on. You can let your guard down! Best take care of that arm before the big day. She tells me it’s rather bad.

Slowly and cautiously, he stands and turns to look behind him, just in time to see the menacing figure of Jeongah standing on the roof, a sniper rifle lax in her hand.

/

[private number] You ready, big boy?

[private number] There’ll be a black hummer waiting for you in the gas station beside the bank. Third bay.

[private number] Good luck!

The scowl plastered on his face is hidden by the surgical mask he wears. Fingers fly to the bandaged gunshot wound as it throbs beneath his clothes, and he allows himself one deep breath before paying no heed to the pain altogether. This should be quick and easy, he thinks; he’s done this once before, so it really shouldn’t be any different from the last time, right?

Without further ado, he pushes past the glass doors, pulls the gun out from under his jacket and fires at the ceiling.

Yeonjoo startles when the door on the passenger side opens, and when she catches sight of the gun in his hand, her soft lips part as a scream threatens to spill from her lips. But he had already seen what she had looked like through the broken window—had seen her fidget, her looking around nervously like a damn gazelle—and so he aims the gun directly at her forehead and screams for her to “just drive, Goddamnit, or I’ll blow your fucking head off,” and so she hurriedly steps on the gas and leaves skid marks where the car was once parked.

She sobs uncontrollably as she drives, pleads spilling pathetically from her lips as she struggles to keep the car moving at a consistent pace. It is clear to all that she is just a child with not a bad bone in her body, and so Jaesuk sighs audibly as he puts the gun away. And then come the plethora of questions that has him reaching for his gun again, if only to get her to shut up.

“W-Did you just rob the bank? Why are you— Wh— Why is this happening to me, oh God—”

He blocks it all out and instead, unlocks his phone to read the new message.

[private number] Good job! I’m so sorry you have to deal with Yeonjoo.

[private number] Anyway, I’ve attached the address to drop the money.

[private number] Leave the gun in the car and bring Yeonjoo with you.

[private number] I’ll be meeting you guys there!

[private number] Also, I can see you from the camera. So no funny business! Leave the gun, or Jeongah’ll pay you a visit very shortly.

There is fire in his eyes as they dart up and scan the car for a camera, and his jaw locks upon realising that it’s on the dashboard, right in front of the sobbing mess of a girl. In his anger, he carelessly attempts to reach for the camera for the sole purpose of yanking it off and destroying it, but the wound begins to throb at his hasty movements, and so he is forced back into seat. Of course, another consequence of his sudden movements is a scream coming from the girl in the driver’s seat, and it has him rolling his eyes so far back, they begin to hurt.

“Would you just shut up, for the love of God—” he pleads, but it only invites louder sobs. He gives up altogether and decides instead to gruffly pass his phone to Yeonjoo. It takes her a few seconds to finally take it from his grasp.

“T-there? They want me to drive you there?” she asks between hiccups, a hand reaching up to wipe the tears from her cheeks with her sleeves.

“They wants you to drive us there.”

And the sobbing returns with full force.

/

Yeonjoo had always believed she coped well with stress, but today is the day she finds out that she most absolutely does not. She doesn’t mean to be such a cry-baby, really, but try as she might, the tears keep coming. And now, the hardened bank robber who previously held her at gunpoint wants her to follow him past some trees and into what seems to be a damn forest. She’s watched enough movies to know how this ends up.

“I— please, please don’t do this! I won’t tell anyone, I promise, just please, please let me go, please—”

The gun is aimed at her once again, and Yeonjoo flinches and cowers at the sight.

“I will kill you if you don’t get out of the car right now,” Jaesuk threatens through grinding teeth, “I’d go by my damn self—I don’t need some deadweight who only knows how to cry and beg—but they said you had to follow me, so stop fucking around!”

Yeonjoo holds her face in her hands. With eyes shut, she barely whispers words of comfort and tells herself that this is not happening, that she’s somewhere else, that this is all a dream—

She feels the cold rim of his gun touch her forehead, and an embarrassing sob spills from her lips.

“Get. Out. Now. I’ll count to ten, and then I’ll blow your fucking brains all over this car! Just fucking get out!”

Please wake up, please wake up, please wake up—

Her hands fly up in surrender, and her eyes stay permanently on the ground as she clumsily falls from the safety of the car. Her legs tremble as they struggle to keep her up, and when she finally gathers the courage to look up, she sees him slamming the door shut and throwing the gun into the car through the broken window. She feels a heavy burden lift from her chest, but she is plagued with confusion.

“Why—”

He doesn’t let her finish her sentence, merely pushes her forward harshly, and she stumbles as she attempts to steady herself. They quietly walk past the trees and what seems like forever is really only a few steps, and then they arrive at a clearing. There is a lone figure that greets them.

The person turns towards the direction of footsteps and the ruffling of leaves, but Jaesuk does not give them time to do any more before he lunges, one hand wrapping around their neck to choke them. Yeonjoo screams yet again as the two fall and roll around the grass, and the situation is so catastrophic that they fail to notice the whirring of a drone camera fast approaching.

“Starting early, I see!” the voice blares from the speaker taped to the drone, and it’s enough to halt the struggle between the two men, “I like it!”

A maniacal cackle follows, and if it wasn’t obvious who the real culprit was, it is now.

“Welcome, welcome, to the game of life! As you can see, Jaesuk is carrying a black bag with lots of cash, and today, one of you will be the lucky winner!” she sings in an inappropriately cheery voice, and it causes wrinkles to form between Kiwoon’s and Jaesuk’s eyebrows—not Yeonjoo, though, she’s still sobbing and using her sleeves to dry her never-ending tears, “the rules are simple: kill, or be killed. The last one standing gets the gold! So don’t say I never reward good behaviour! You have 20 minutes to beat each other to the pulp, and if there’s more than one of you alive by the end of it, I’m afraid I’m going to have to publish all those dirty, nasty things you’re trying so hard to hide. So if you’re thinking of holding back, don’t—”

“Just fucking post it! Tell them! I don’t care! Just let me go, you bitch—” the scream grates against Yeonjoo’s sore throat after having gathered enough courage to fight back.

Jennie growls in anger at the rude intrusion, but she gives herself a second to calm down before she replies in a comforting tone that is very obviously fake, “Yeonnie, dear. Oh honey, you were an accessory to a bank robbery! Remember the camera? I have all the footage I need to send your cute butt to jail! You don’t want to go to jail… do you?”

A loud sob follows.

“I figured as much! Anyway, let’s not waste any more time. Now, Jaesuk and Kiwoon, please get off of each other; we want a fair fight, alright? Surprise elements are a no-no!” Jennie chastises, before once again getting back on track, “anyway, without further ado, the game starts in 3, 2, 1. Your twenty minutes start now!”

Kiwoon clenches his hands into fists and brings them up as he assumes a Southpaw stance, but the trembling of his lips and the rapid blinking of his eyes as he fights his tears reveal that he is not at all skilled in fighting. Adrenaline flows through his veins, but as he readies to fight for his life, he wonders why any of it ever mattered so much.

/

Bloodied hands reach to grab the black duffel bag on the ground. His eyes are reduced into thin slits, swollen and bruised from receiving punches. A small chuckle escapes his lips as the words, ‘you should see the other guy’ flies past his mind, but the chuckle slowly morphs into a whimper, and his once confident stance now melts to the ground gracelessly.

He hears the sound of police sirens through his heaving sobs, and what follows are thunderous footsteps and a shout, “freeze! Hands in the air where I can see ‘em!”

Kiwoon doesn’t struggle.

They say that he was so tired of his life, of being poor, and he was so desperate to turn his situation around that he resorted to going above the law and taking what he needed forcefully. A quick fix. They say he was the mastermind behind it all: that he had found unlikely alliances with a wanted criminal and a beauty queen, and that he wasn’t willing to split the money three ways, so he murdered them all in cold blood once they had done most of the dirty work for him. They say that he was an adrenaline junkie, and this was his biggest rush yet. Some try to put themselves in his shoes and say that he did all this for his sick mother and struggling father—that he was desperate to get her the help she needed but could not afford—and others counter, “but at what price?”

The media paints him in a tragic light, a victim of circumstance, and the masses criticise the news stations for glorifying a murderer. Some praise the media for being able to read between the lines. There are mixed reviews, but whatever the verdict is, time goes on, and soon, everyone forgets about a friendly guy who once worked in a rundown diner, who had monsters dancing underneath his skin. Instead, they talk about how scandalous a dress a certain actress donned on the red carpet, or speculate how accurate it was for a certain high profile CEO to be accused of embezzlement.

(And as for the phones? The text messages? The evidence of another possible explanation? Why, they cease to exist, because Jennie has already hacked into phone companies and deleted any archives kept.)

Everyone forgets, but Jennie always remembers. A sinister smirk graces her lips as she stores the video recording of the fight—of her games—onto a disc, and she places it on the shelf beside the many others. Just in case she ever finds herself bored, and is ever in the mood to relive her success.

She clears her desk of the empty cans of energy drinks, coffee cups, and shreds the many documents she has on her deceased gamers and she burns the evidence. And then she fills her empty desk with new energy drinks, full coffee cups, and her printer once again gets to work as she prints documents upon documents of information on her newest victims.

Today has passed, and dawn breaks, signifying the arrival of a new tomorrow.

[cathygeha]

A cupcake baker with magical abilities suddenly finds herself competing with the unfortunately handsome owner of the fancy new bakery across the street in Golden Heart® Winner Tara Sheets's magical romantic comedy releasing April 24th, 2018.

 Rafflecopter for Don’t Call Me Cupcake Blog Tour Giveaway:

 Tara is offering one (1) lucky winner a Kindle Fire! To enter, simply fill out the Rafflecopter below:

 Direct Link:

 http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b050ef29512/

 About Don’t Call Me Cupcake:

 Title: Don’t Call Me Cupcake

Author: Tara Sheets

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Release Date: April 24, 2018

Publisher: Zebra Shout – Kensington Publishing

Series: The Holloway Girls

Format: Digital eBook / Print

Digital ISBN: 1420146264

Print ISBN: 9781420146264

 Synopsis:

 There’s a very special kind of sweetness to life on Pine Cove Island …

 Most families have a favorite recipe or two, handed down through generations. The Holloway women are a little different. Emma Holloway, like her grandmother before her, bakes charms into her delicious cupcakes, granting the recipient comfort, sweet dreams, or any number of good things. It’s a strange gift, but it brings only happiness. Until gorgeous, smooth-talking newcomer Hunter Kane strolls into her shop, Fairy Cakes—and Emma makes the mistake of selling him not one, but three Sweet Success cupcakes.

 Hunter, it turns out, is opening a fancy new restaurant and bakery right on the waterfront—Emma’s competition. To make matters worse, the town committee has decided to split the upcoming summer festival contract between the two, forcing Emma to work with her nemesis. But she can’t afford to split her profits. The solution: create a recipe that will make Hunter leave town permanently.

 The Holloway charms are powerful. But there are other kinds of magic in the world—like red-hot first kisses, secret glances, and the feeling that comes with falling truly, madly, inconveniently in love . . .

 Add to your TBR list:  Goodreads

 Available at:  Amazon |  Barnes and Noble |  Kobo |  iTunes |  Books-A-Million

  Excerpt:

Copyright© 2018 Don’t Call Me Cupcake

Tara Sheets

 That half smile ghosted across his face again and he crossed his arms. It was a simple gesture of relaxed ease, but Emma didn’t buy it. There was a hunger in his dark green gaze that she remembered all too well. The lion was on high alert.

“What did you want to talk about?” he asked.

“It was wrong,” she blurted.

Hunter’s posture shifted slightly. “You think last night was a mistake.”

“Totally. I mean, I never do that kind of thing. Ever. I don’t know what I was thinking, you know?” Here came the babble. She always babbled when she was nervous. “But I know it’s not a good idea to mix my personal life with business. And you and I are just business, so I hope you understand it’s not going to happen again because, you know, I can’t really believe it even happened in the first place.”

His gaze was intense, like he was imagining the things they could do. The things they had done. A delicious shiver skittered up her spine. She forged ahead. “I mean, I just don’t think it should have happened at all. It was kind of crazy and well, contrary to what you may have heard, I’m not actually crazy. Weird, sure. But not reckless like that. At least I never have been in the past. So anyway, I would like to forget about it and, you know, just go on like before,” said the queen of Babble-on. “Normal and stuff.”

Hunter nodded once and glanced down at the floor. He seemed deep in thought, as if he was trying to make a decision.

Emma tried not to notice his muscular arms, crossed against his chest. Nothing sexy about those. Nope. La la la. She could hear the second hands ticking on the wall clock. Tick. Tick.

He pressed his lips together and she suddenly remembered the feel of them, warm and hot against the sensitive spot on her neck. Focus!

When he finally lifted his head, her knees almost buckled. The lion stared back, all wild and hungry and seductive, like he was about to lick zebra chops. He leaned closer.

She should probably back away.

He watched her beneath thick, dark lashes and lowered his gaze to her mouth.

Yup. Definitely backing away soon. She could almost feel the heat of his body on hers and her traitorous limbs ached with the desire to step closer.

His face hovered inches from hers, as if he was waiting for some sign.

Any second now, she would back away. Any second. Emma’s mouth opened on a tiny indrawn breath.

It seemed to be exactly what he was waiting for. The moment his lips touched hers, her limbs flooded with heat. Her body remembered him and was instantly ready.

He gripped her hips and lifted, pulling her flush against him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, completely lost in the kiss that spread like wildfire through her blood. He carried her to the back room, knocking over a bag of sugar on the way as he braced her up against the pantry wall. She gripped the edge of the shelf, sending stainless steel mixing bowls toppling to the floor. The two of them were like a hurricane, demolishing anything that got in the way, and she was helpless to do anything but hang on.

Emma suddenly wanted to feel his skin against hers. She grabbed the hem of his shirt and yanked it up, breaking away from their kiss just long enough to tear it over his head.

A low growl escaped him as he ran his hands up under her apron, sending a jolt of pure desire rocketing through her.

Screwed. She was so screwed. But in this moment, who cared?

She smiled against his mouth and licked his lips. If he was the hungry lion, then she was happy, slow-roasting zebra chops.

  About Tara Sheets:

 TARA SHEETS is an award-winning author of contemporary romance and women’s fiction. Her work has earned first place recognition in literary contests nationwide and her debut novel, Don’t Call Me Cupcake, won the 2016 Golden Heart® award sponsored by Romance Writers of America®. Tara began her career as an author in the Pacific Northwest, inspired by the rain and the misty mountains and the rivers of Starbucks coffee.  She now lives in the warm, wonderful South where she can stand outside with no coat on, and she finds that pretty inspiring too.  When not writing, Tara enjoys life with her book-loving family and a book-eating dog named Merlin. She is represented by Sarah Phair at Trident Media Group.

 Connect with Tara: Website  |  Facebook  |  Twitter  |  Goodreads  |  Amazon  |  BookBub

    http://barclaypublicity.com/

[brokenroots-blog1]

Turning Point

 “Because, you see, to be detached from the world, in the sense Buddhists, Taoists, and Hindus will often talk about detachment, does not mean to be non participative. You can have a sexual life, very rich and very full, and yet all the time be detached. By that I dont mean that you just go through it mechanically and have your thoughts elsewhere. I mean a complete participation but still detached.  And the difference of the two attitudes is this. On the one hand, there is a way of being so anxious about physical pleasure, so afraid that you won’t make it, that you grab it too hard. That you just have to have that thing! And if you do that, you destroy it completely. And therefore after ever attempt to get it, you feel disappointed,  you feel empty, you feel something was lost. And therefore you want it again. And you have to keep repeating,repeating, repeating – because you never really got there and it is this that is the hang up. This is what is meant by attachment to the world, in an evil sense.

But on the other hand, Pleasure in its fullness, cannot be experienced when one is grasping it. I knew a little girl to whom someone gave a bunny rabbit. She was so delighted by the bunny rabbit, and so afraid of losing it, that taking it home in the car,  she squeezed it to death with love. And lots of parents do that to their children. And lots of spouses do it to each other. They hold on too hard, and so take the life out of this transient, beautifully fragile  thing that life is.

To have it, to have life, and to have its pleasure, you must at the same time let go of it. And then, you can feel perfectly free to have that pleasure in the most gutsy, earthy, frolicking, liplicking way. Ones whole being taken over by a kind of undulating, convulsive ripple, that is like the very pulse of life itself. This can only happen if you let go. If you are willing to be abandoned. It is funny that word, abandoned. We speak of people who are dissolute as  abandoned, but we  can also use abandon as the characteristic of a saint.”

“All sensations are very short lived - they can’t last forever. The moment you separate yourself and a particular sensation and tell yourself that you are happy, the demand to keep it going longer for its duration of life is inevitable. What you are doing to stretch that and keep that going on and on has turned it to the opposite of happiness - same as the state of pleasure. You want to be in that state of pleasure all the time, but it is just not possible. So, you are turning pleasure into pain. The demand for permanence in every area of our existence is the course of human misery. There is no such thing as permanence at all.”

Have reached a turning point in my life, a very frustrating one indeed, at a very timely moment.Realize that I’ve been living my life all this while wrong - trying to grasp so tightly, hold on to the moment, even though it’s long gone. An entire shift in perspective is needed... Else, I’ll live the rest of my life in a very self-destructive, frustrating and vicious loop. 

Just came back from Melbourne barely a day ago, and am feeling a tsunami of emotions. The first two days were great, where I walked the city alone, enjoying the pleasure that is in travelling solo. I have to admit, the first few (probably much more) hours were definitely a very strange feeling... Realized that the only thing I was running away from for the past semester (or even the past year) was from myself. 

Myself - who was so afraid of being alone that I latched on to anyone that came on. Looking back, as perfect as thing seemed on the surface with Shuet, I guess things were far from perfect. The chase (which lasted almost an entire year) was definitely I sought so desperately after things ended strangely with Michelle. But when I asked her to be my girlfriend, despite the glaring warning signs that week, everything seemed to take a turn for the better. Up till... Chinese New Year where she couldn’t take my tight grip and wanted to break up - but she decided to give me a chance to change. Further down the road, after many chances, I suppose I just... couldn’t do it. I guess I handled the breakup so fucking badly because it just felt it didn’t make sense at all. How could it be that someone who loved me and cared for me so much would simply leave like this? Without a fight? And I failed, terribly, trying to see things from her perspective - and I guess this is my biggest flaw. 

She tried, she definitely did, over and over again, to want to love me and continue loving me. But I disappointed her, over and over again - especially that week where she came down, twice, to hall to find me but I pressured her to do physical stuff. Be a man, Yiwei, and take responsibility for your own mistakes. 

And I did... at least I thought I did during the finals mugging period in Y1S1. And Sharmaine came along - everything seemed so effortless. All the times we went out, it felt so peaceful. Drinks at the bar, listening to music at Helipad, escaping the rain (driving about frantically around the North), lying down at Marina Barrage. And me, being me, wanted to latch on to this so fucking badly. And I pushed, put in a creepily amount of effort, which eventually scared her off. Somehow, I managed to shove this aside - deleting every vestige of her existence from my phone and unfollowing her on social media - till now.... 

But first, Sharon. I suppose time really does wonders. Now, almost an entire week without talking (rather proud of myself for being able to hold back), I’m gaining clarity every single day. How we rushed into the ecstasy of physical connection and tried to force things to the way they were. Spending Christmas Eve and New Year’s Even was probably a testament to this - how we were probably both just too... afraid to be alone that we spent so much time together, like she said, doing anything and everything. And when the semester started, priorities changed, tensions heightened and things just went downhill. At least I get to keep her as a friend...? Or do I want her back...? Really need to think this through the next few weeks. 

But me, being me, needed an escape from all of this. Figured going to Melbourne to find Sharmaine will be a good idea, and I suppose things didn’t turn out as badly as I figured. When I saw her that night at the train station, she felt so... foreign and distant. But there’s just something - the ability to put me at ease and relaxed I suppose? The Saturday spent was amazing - “hiking” (somewhat) to places we both have never ventured to before and simply admiring the beauty of nature beside one another was simply breathtaking... The night was frustrating though - she spent a good hour and half on the phone with her friend planning her trip back to Singapore and I realized... What a fool I was, to think that I was that special. So what if she was willing to come to the city and spend a few nights to you? The way she spoke to her friend was the exact same tone in which she conversed. Worse still, she sounded even happier talking to him. But then again, who am I to set all these expectations? Before I knew it, I was on the flight home back to Singapore. And everything - those adventurous days, the nights spent stroking her hair and ear, the morning spent tracing the outline of her face - seemed like a dream. 

And now, back to reality. Treat her like a friend. Nothing could ever and would ever happen with her. She mentioned explicitly about how she doesn’t want a long-distance relationship and spoke about how her ignoring of her friend’s confession was for him to get the hint. Anchor yourself, Yiwei, to these thoughts. That worrying and overthinking is praying to the Devil for a weary and tired mind. 

Another thing weighing me down greatly - parents and home. Why does it feel so exhausting, suffocating and draining spending time with them? Every question asked, every statement made, every action executed seems to annoy me to the fullest extent. For instance, when Mum asked about Sharmaine’s photo frame, she clearly had no intentions at all. I’ve distilled it down to this - it’s not that I’m ascribing intention, but I’m channeling the negativity accumulated throughout the entire day (frustration, disappointment and anger) and father and mother, unnecessarily amalgamating the entire day into a ball of emotion. 

Let’s try this, tomorrow onward. No matter how annoyed I get, I will pause. Separate the heart and mind. Don’t take things personally and respond aggressively. For instance, Dad was just trying to joke around when asking about the camera, but I allowed the frustration of everything to make me emotionally heightened and almost caused an argument. The same for Mum asking about Sharmaine’s photo frame - I let the memories of her asking about Sharon and Shuet flow to the present and reacted unnecessarily. 

So, from now on, pause. You have the energy, abundant energy, if you stop defending yourself and your ego. Let go, let loose, love my family and my friends. Be better, Yiwei. 

The past and memory of the past tells us where we have been and what we have experienced. Like a boat, the wake doesn’t drive the boat. Your past does not determine your present.